


Love in the time of cannibals

by ToxicWitchling



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Erotic, Erotica, Foreplay, Jealous Franklyn, Jealous Will, M/M, Praise Kink, Sex, Stalking, Sugar Daddy, indulgence kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2020-09-06 05:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 62,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20286409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicWitchling/pseuds/ToxicWitchling
Summary: Franklyn has noticed Dr Lecter's favoritism with another patient. It started small; frequent appointments, hushed conversations and light touches. However, Franklyn draws the line at the recent extravagant gifts the Doctor seems to be bestowing on a scruffy fisherman from Wolf Trap. He realizes he may be more interested in the good Doctor than he first knew and begins to find out as much as possible about this Will Graham, if not to stop him toying with the Doctor's affections, then to learn where the attractions lies and steal it for himself.AKA. Franklyn notices Will is a sugar baby before Will does, gets jealous, and wants that lifestyle.





	1. A man visits

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because jealous franklyn and sugar baby Will are my weird niche happy buttons. Enjoy.

Will threw the stick as far as he could manage. 4 dogs whipped past him in hot pursuit, the other 3 stayed faithfully at his side. Autumn in Wolf Trap was slow and brisk, the chill would fall before the leaves and decay was tame if stunted. He liked it. The season here was as un-rushed as the place itself. Nature took its sweet time shedding its foliage, transforming into the darker months akin to slipping into a well-worn jacket, or more adeptly, a second skin. The sound of paws crunching across frosted grass brought him back. Zoe was the first to tumble into his leg, her solid under-bite smashing into his femur. She shook her head, gazed up at him lovingly, and stood back to wag her tail.

She was empty handed, as always. Her little jaw wasn’t much good at ferrying sticks, but she’d snap her teeth in a fruitless effort ‘to help’. Harley had the prized stick. It lumbered in his mouth as his drool leaked out either side. Will took it with some persuasion and then let it go further this time. Again, 4 ran off whilst 3 stayed behind. Winston had taken to treating Will like a doddering old man, ever alert and aware that his delicate owner may end up on a highway or a roof if left unattended. He sat sniffing the ground at Will’s feet. His nose was wet with frost as little clouds of mist accompanied his heavy nasal breathes. 

The other two milled around as they pleased. Buster took a brisk morning whiff of Jack’s behind. Will shook his head and wondered what Buster thought to smell that he hadn’t smelt the 200 other times he’d done it. Dogs were such keen creatures of habit; loyal and comforting, filling a special place in one’s life. He chuckled thinking what it said about him that he had 7. If he had neighbors, they’d call him the crazy dog man – not that he would do much to correct it. There was a certain power to whistling for a pack to come rolling thunderously on. Not that all his strays were threatening. Zoe could summon a good high-pitched growl – when she wasn’t shaking with anger like she needed a piss, like most small dogs do.

In the distance, Will could make out the outline of a person. Very disconcerting, considering they were walking on his land. The form appeared from the light mist; a man, well dressed in an ill portioned suit, hair over slicked and beard trimmed. He was the rotund sort, lifting his legs comically high to deal with the wet grass and the problem of his soon to be ruined trousers. He seemed vaguely familiar. His walk became a slight jog, his pale cheeks offset by the vague blush of being out of breath. His forward march stopped when Buster let out a deep growl.

“Buster,” Will beckoned the dog closer with an outstretched palm. He obeyed and planted himself at Will’s feet like a true guard dog. “Excuse me, this is private property. Not a park.”

“Y..yes, I’m sorry. I’m looking for my dog.”

Will peered forward to get a better look. He wouldn’t put it past a killer to play this rouse, and he’d pissed off enough of them to know they’d try it. 

“Why were you walking your dog on private land?”

“Oh no, I was just walking him down the main road, you see. Got off his leash and I heard your dogs, so I thought…” at this the man took a handkerchief from his top pocket and dabbed his brow. Will noted it looked very similar to one Hannibal once had. The whole suit looked familiar. His pale blue shirt was stretched thin over his belly and it matched somewhat with his casual, suede jacket.

“This whole field is my property and my driveaway is about a mile from any main road. Even then, you expect me to believe you walk your dog along a highway?”

“No, no, it’s nothing sinister. I was letting him stretch his legs, we’ve been driving…”

“And you heard my dogs all the way from the road?”

“Well,” the man lifted his hand to his nose to blow. Then, he looked anxiously around at Will’s pack. “I saw your house first and thought you might help me. There’s no one around here.”

“It’s Wolf Trap, Virginia. The arse end of nowhere. Where were you heading to?” 

At that, the man faltered. His lie, and an obvious lie at that, had not been so carefully constructed for even the slightest bit of criticism. The pack of all 7 dogs were stood around Will. They looked like a small army. Of course, Zoe took the lead, snapping her little jaws every so often just to make a point. Winston stuck to Will’s immediate left, brushing his legs. The other’s spread themselves out, Jack slowly creeping behind the mystery guest for good measure. 

“This is ridiculous, I’m just here for my lost dog,” the man’s movements became large, his arms swinging out in a full gesture. He laughed nervously. 

“So, where’s the lead?” Will asked. 

“The what?”

“The lead. For your lost dog?”

They locked eyes for a moment; the lie now completely see through and Will could sense in the man’s eyes that panic was setting in.  
“I must have left it in the car,” he made a move to pat himself furiously, as though he’d find a lead buried in his pocket.

“What’s your dog’s name?”

“Huh?” he looked up from his excited patted to give a vacant look.

“Your dog. It has a name, yes?” Will slowed each syllable and almost punctuated every word. 

“Yes, yes, of course. Rover.”

Will held his need to be sarcastic. Why hadn’t this mess just rocked up with a push chair and claimed he lost a baby named ‘baby’. It would have been more believable.

“Okay, I’ll walk you back to your car and we’ll call for your dog, but don’t hold out hope. You’re over a mile from where you said you lost him. Where are you parked, Mr….?"

“Mr Banks,” the man’s curly black hair flopped forward with damp.

Will held his tongue again. He had been in law enforcement long enough to know when someone was likely giving him a false name. In his head he knew this was a laughable attempt at disguise if ‘Mr Banks’ was an enemy. He didn’t appear to be armed or, for that matter, dangerous in the slightest. He just stood there, a dumb anxious smile spread on his round face as he seemed to rock from one foot to the other. 

“Well, Mr Banks,” he let the words roll from his tongue dripped in disbelief. “Let me show you the way off my land and back to your car.”

“Yes, lead the way.” 

Will took the lead with his dogs, sparring only glances to make sure his uninvited guest was following. The man’s step was still fumbling on the frosted grass, he walked haphazardly trying to avoid mud and dogs but never looking up to watch his path. He stumbled in a few places, but Will hurried on. He knew he recognized the man. An itch in the back of brain told him that somewhere he recognized the form. ‘Mr Banks’, as he insisted was his name, cut an all too familiar frame. The hunched, anxious shoulders connected to tightly compacted arms and fiddling hands. The round face, half covered in thick beard, hiding a large mouth with a nervous smile. Everything about him was nervous, wound tightly, like a spring ready to launch. At any moment he seemed to have a thought that threatened to burst through his eager but repressed, twitching fingers. 

“So, you live here alone?” a voice cut through Will’s thoughts. Mr Banks was starring holes into the back of his head. 

“Yeah.”

“Big place for one man. No Kids? No Wife...?” his breathe held a moment. “No husband?”

Will turned to look at him momentarily. He didn’t like that pause before husband. “No.”

“Yeah, yeah. Me too. Kind of a lone wolf myself these days. Always wanted a big piece of land for solitude, get back out into nature. Maybe get some dogs of my own.” He bent to pet Zoe only to leer back away from her imminent snap at his fingers. “Know of anything for sale in the area?”

“No.”

A few more moments silence. 

“I was travelling through to see a relative. Might not make it there tonight though. Any local hotels you’d recommend?”

“Not for miles around here. I told you, it’s the arse end of Virginia. Head South towards the National Park. There’s plenty of tourist stuff there.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of Wolf Trap National Park for the arts. Open air Theatre and Opera. Really got the hub of culture going on.”

“I don’t care for opera.”

“That’s weird…” 

At that, Will turned around to face his intruder. They’d reached the house and he was keen to see the back of him, but something about him was still familiar. 

“Why is it weird?” Will asked. 

“Oh, no reason. I thought you might be a little more cultured because…”

“Because…?” 

Mr Banks looked expectedly up at Will’s house, his eyes scrupulous, criticizing every feature under a harsh code. He could feel the disappointment in his gut. This man had come to size up his life, to weigh it against some standard and it was coming up short. Then, it changed from disappointment to perplexing. Some unknown question needed to be answered. 

“Do you like to cook?” Mr Banks asked. 

Will blinked twice at the change in topic. “I can gut a mean trout.”

“Oh,” Mr Banks’ eyes lost some light and looked down. “Do you like wines or cheese?”

“Whiskey is what I like. Cheese I can take or leave,” he said it with a calm shrug of the shoulders. Again, he was met with an odd sense of contempt. 

“Do you play any instruments?”

“I can a fix a boat,” Will scratched his chin, fresh stubble itchy from the harsh cold. He wondered how long he could entertain this mini-interrogation. 

“Then you must be able to draw,” Mr Banks was positively red in the face, holding his breath like a spoilt child awaiting the answer to his question. 

“Why must I? Am I an 18th century protégé? I like to fish.”

It seemed that was the final straw. Mr Banks broke into a fit of nervous laughter, the kind that fills the space of time after an unwelcome truth is revealed. He clung to his lapel, smoothing it with a strong grip whilst spinning aimlessly. His eyes unfocused, both seeing and not seeing the world spin around him. 

“Not what I expected. You have nothing in common, nothing.”

“Nothing in common with who?” and that made him stop moving. His face to Will he smiled widely. 

“To me. You see I have a great passion for opera, I enjoy touching greatness and music is a hobby of mine.”

“Oh, so you play?”

“Not myself, no. Regrettably, I have no formal training, but I like to encourage the arts. I enjoy being in the presence of those with talent. Don’t you feel the same?”

His bulging eyes now focused solely on Will, it was his turn to be scrutinized now the house was done with. They focused on his figure, looking him up and down greedily. 

“I mean, I shouldn’t impose. What a question to ask to a man out in the woods, practically. You seem like a more… down to earth, kind of man.”

Will knew it wasn’t a complete. “No. We should get you to your car.” 

“I’m sure I could walk myself from here. Is there a shop nearby to get clothes? I’ve ruined these trousers. I like the ones you’re wearing, any local recommendations?”

“You’ll need to go to the tourist part of town for variety.”

“No, your look is great!” Mr Banks hands came up to grab Will’s shoulders, but he moved back in time to avoid it. “Where can I get that shirt?”

“J C Penney.”

“Ha, you’re funny. I’m glad we met. I prefer bigger brands, it’s the quality that will last. Maybe I can take you to some real shops sometime, talk more about Wolf Trap. Here, take my card,” and he handed over a smooth white business card. Will smiled.

“Sure, I supposed I’ve got a lot to learn about fashion. Though, just one thing.”

“Yes?”

“Should we invite Hannibal as well, seeing as he is both our therapists, Mr Froideveaux,” Will gave a languid smile as he lifted the business card into the air to show off the beautifully embossed name. Franklyn’s face went lax with the realization and his jaw hung open.  
“I’m sure Hannibal would love to join us.”


	2. The man who brings gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will informs Hannibal about Franklyn's visit, when Hannibal tries to talk with Franklyn about it, he finds the man's style has significantly changed.

"So," Will smiled as he lifted the decanter in Hannibal's office to pour another drink. "Your friend visited me this weekend."

"My friend?" Hannibal's tone remained un-readable as ever. Their appointments could hardly be considered professional anymore, with the extra time spent generally chatting, exchanging anecdotes and Will enjoying as much fine whiskey as he could. They both knew the line had blurred with them a long time ago. It was a far stretch from Jack's office, that first unwelcome psycho analysis sitting between them like stagnant water and now, sat on the sofa in Hannibal's office, thigh to thigh, close enough to fight for the same wild breath. It was the most intimacy Will had experienced in a long time, and it came to him with surprising ease. He didn't remember when Dr Lecter became Hannibal, nor when appointments became evenings. 

Sometimes, they would abandon the pretense of the office altogether and would escape to Hannibal's house. Too often Will had found himself well fed and dosing on the couch, a small glass of whiskey in his hand. Then Hannibal would take the glass gently, fingers ghosting each other, and whisper in his ear to simply stay the night. He couldn't resist the lull of his voice, not when he was so sleep deprived at home. He'd never slept better than under Hannibal's roof. They joked once, he joked, that Hannibal was definitely putting something in his food. Hannibal replied that Will drank enough whiskey to kill a normal man. He didn't argue that. 

"The one with the crush on you, or his friend, Tobias. Both of you," Will smirked as he put the glass of whiskey to his lips.

"Franklyn. How would he know where you live?"

"That's why I'm telling you. You're not missing a file are you Doctor Lecter? I might sue, you know. There's big money in that," he couldn't hide the teasing smile. 

"Is that so, Will? You intend to use me for my money?" Hannibal lifted one eyebrow and shuffled a little closer. "I expected more of you."

"Well, you shouldn't have shown me your house. If you were a pauper maybe I'd be kind and spare you, but you're a rich man. So, I'm morally obligated to rob you blind."

The two starred at each other, eyes locked for endless seconds. Will had never been able to hold eye contact with anyone the way he could with Hannibal. The conversation flowed so much better, he didn't need to worry about being too morbid, too involved or too crazy. Those were all things other people cared about. Once, they had done nothing but silently enjoy each other's company all night. Hannibal read a book then later played harpsichord whilst Will sipped whiskey by the fire, falling in and out of sleep like a content retiree. He thought of that peace; unknown and fleeting in a world where everyone seemed to rob him of it. Not Hannibal, though - he was the one peaceful retreat. 

"I see - my ill gotten gains should be spread to the masses. Tell me, Robin Hood, should I expect the Merry Men to ambush me at dawn?"

"I don't know, Sheriff. Just don't send anymore ambushes my way."

"I assure you I have no idea how he found out, if I find he's been through my files I will personally-" he was cut off. 

"Personally, nothing. Freddie put my house up on her site, remember? I might have gotten it taken down but it would only have taken him a minute. Especially, if all he does is google your name all night."

Will sank his rough palm down into the supple leather of the couch, searching for the tablet they hid there. He felt the slim edge of it's case and pulled it out. Hannibal made a small displeased noise in his throat at the sight of it.

"I know you hate distractions when we talk, but best to check how much your friend could find out about me online," Will inched closer, turning so his body faced Hannibal and bringing the tablet close to their faces. 

"This is bad for your eyes, Will. Do you have the glasses I got for you?"

Will winced a little at their mention. Hannibal had taken to getting him little gifts every now and then. It started small, or small enough for him not to notice. Winston brought in an unidentified tennis ball one day - thoroughly excused as a way not to be hounded by a pack of dogs on his visits. Then, he noticed a new notepad on his work desk - Hannibal apologized saying he had spilled something on Will's previous one when looking for him one afternoon. Finally, the gifts stopped coming with excuses. A fly fishing hook, an old book, a set of gloves and then the glasses. Hannibal didn't ask him if he wanted them nor did he offer an excuse when he handed them over. It was a statement; I have brought this for you and you will wear them. No back and forth about money. No reason. 

"Yeah, they're in my jacket pocket," Will reached down into his old coat, feeling for the cold touch of glass and producing a stylish, if not simple pair of glasses. He put them on and felt a slight blush linger on his cheeks. 

"They suit you well," Hannibal smiled softly. His gaze was affixed to Will's face, looking over his soft brown hair and parched lips. 

"You're doing what Franklyn did."

"And what's that?"

"Looking at me. He looked at me like he was trying to figure something out. Something he really didn't get."

"And what did he see?"

"Something spectacularly ordinary," Will sighed and tapped on the glass. He purposefully kept his eyes away from Hannibal's. He could feel his gaze lingering on his face. 

"I would beg to differ," Hannibal lifted a finger to push an errant curl behind Will's ear. He let his fingers linger there, soothing gently on the rim of his ear. Will jumped back a little. 

"Hannibal!" 

"You are sensitive, Will."

It sent a flush of red rushing over Will's face, threatening to run down his chest. In these moments, he was so acutely aware of everything. Sensory overload consumed his mind; the burn of whiskey in his throat, the soft leather, the fire and Hannibal's scent. His proximity was maddening, all together too close and too far. 

"Hand the tablet here," he took the device from his friend, careful to let his fingers stay a moment too long. Again, Will flushed. It was the most intimate thing he'd experienced in years. 

Hannibal quickly searched for Will's full name and picked up on a few half decent sources. The internet trail painted the picture of an almost retired New Orleans cop turned Quantico professor, some what of a hermit, some what of a supposed serial killer (as lovingly dubbed by Ms Lounds herself). There were a few standard photos, again mainly from TattleCrime. Finally, he pulled up the image of himself and Will stood at a crime scene, facing one another in close proximity. 

"I believe I've found the trigger."

Will peered over, daring to get as close to Hannibal as possible. "I see, he found our vanity shot."

"One can only assume, we do look rather engaged in what we're saying. Perhaps he realized we have a friendship beyond our professional capacity?"

"You can't tell that from a picture. Even you're not that astute."

Hannibal smirked. "You do me a disservice, besides, perhaps he didn't get all from the picture. You are on my appointment list nearly every day. He has seen you in my waiting room. He knows I've bought you things. He may see it as an intimacy he has sought but been denied."

Will's heart seemed to miss a beat at the mention of the gifts. They hadn't ever spoken directly of them. Ever. At least they hadn't referred to them as 'being bought things'. He felt a knot tie in his stomach; a young man being bought presents by a wealthy, older gentleman from old money. He must seem a tramp. 

"T...there haven't been that many things..." he stuttered. 

"Oh? There have been a few. Though no where near as many as I'd like."

"What?" for the first time in a while Will held his host's eye contact unwavering. 

"I had always planned for other gifts. You need a new scarf, for one. Your current choice is matted in dog hair and at least several years too old."

Will lifted the whiskey glass to his shaking lips and let out a cold, curt laugh as he starred at the fire. Hannibal was joking. Of course he was joking, but as he turned back he met a serious gaze. 

"You joke too much, Hannibal."

"I don't recall having told a joke."

"Just now, about buying me gifts. Don't. I'm not a child at Christmas who needs spoiling. I'm a grown man with a bank account," he went to take another sip of whiskey but was stopped by a hand curled around his own. 

"I enjoy buying you things, indulge me."

"No."

"As your friend, indulge me."

"You sound a lot like Franklyn from what you've told me. Why don't you indulge him?" it came out harsher than he meant it to. 

"Why when I already indulge you so much, Will?"

It was true and it hit Will like a gut punch. He was sat in his therapists office, long after hours, sipping fancy whiskey he'd never buy himself and had already contemplate going back to Hannibal's, eating a home cooked meal and drifting to sleep in the guest bedroom. He was indulged continuously; he was practically spoiled and now, here he was, throwing his toys out the pram because he wanted to be a big boy. 

"You're right," he put the glass of whiskey down. "I have been taking liberties, and I shouldn't." He went to stand but was stopped. 

"I have allowed every indulgence, I have encouraged it. You have a tendency to deny yourself, Will. If you could shed every pleasure in this weird bar those that would keep you alive, you would, in the name of penance."

"I'm not so saintly."

"But you are a denier of pleasure, of beauty. Certainly of your own," again Hannibal's hand reached out and caressed the side of Will's face. They sat there, immersed completely in that time, in that moment, burning it second by second, touch by touch, into their eternal memory. The feel of Hannibal's skin on his own was ecstasy. 

"I have a gift for you. Two actually."

"Hannibal..."

"Don't bother protesting, I won't hear of you denying yourself," the tone was forceful, authoritative. Will almost found himself squeaking 'yes, sir' in reply. He couldn't even remember his own Father having such a controlling voice. Hannibal was gone just a few minutes, he left the room silently to work on something in his joining office. Will tried to guess what it would be. He sank into the old leather, sighing deeply with his coarse hands running up and down the material. Maybe he had bought a scarf. That was the more reasonable end of things. His mind raced to the more un-reasonable. A dense shiver of excitement crept up his spine. He wanted something more un-reasonable, he wanted Hannibal to come in with some ridiculously luxurious thing so he could protest but then get to hear the commanding tone of the older man telling him what he was going to do. Blood pooled around his groin and he willed himself not to get hard. God, he wanted Hannibal to talk to him like that again. 

"Will."

He suddenly sat upright and turned his head to see Hannibal at the door. He had removed his jacket, folding his shirt sleeves up to his elbows to reveal toned arms. The kind of arms that had the strength to hold you down. In his hand, a small selection of food was arranged aesthetically, all cut to the same size and oddly colour coordinated as food went. He smelt the cheese first, fresh and dense in the air. There were both varieties of grape, a few strawberries and slices of thinly cut meat. 

"Tonight, you'll allow me the pleasure of serving you an evening meal."

"I can go home to eat."

"I was not asking, William," and his command earned no back talk. "I will be feeding you."

Hannibal sat precociously on the seat he occupied before, the fine material of his shirt stretched slightly by the pressure of his waistcoat.

"Which do you want first?"

"Now, I have a choice?" Will smirked through his apprehension. 

"Of course, I won't allow you to deny yourself but when you do indulge you must tell me what you prefer." He came in close to Will's ear, hot breathe prickling his skin. " After all, my greatest pleasure is to spoil you." 

Will couldn't help how hard he got at that single sentence, whispered with such tenderness right into the sensitive spot as the base of his ear. He was swimming with giddiness. 

"A grape," he almost didn't recognize his own voice, so wanton and full of need.

"Good boy." 

He felt his cock jump twitch at the praise. Inwardly, he cringed at how eager he was for it and Hannibal was as perspective as ever.

"My Will, do you like it when I praise you? When I tell you how beautiful I find you?" 

Will couldn't answer, couldn't even fully face the confession. He swallowed hard and made a noise of approval somewhere deep in his throat as he screwed his eyes shut. 

"Now, say it," Hannibal spoke as though commanding a errant puppy. His eyes fixated on Will as he blinked behind his glasses. Their eye contact resumed, unbroken and unwavering as they continued. 

"I...I like it when you praise me. It make me feel... it gets me hard," Will settled on the truth. 

"Good boy," Hannibal lifted a single purple grape from the platter and rested it gently on Will's lips. He opened, biting it's flesh and coating Hannibal's hand in the red juice bleeding from it's remains. Strangely emboldened, Will held to Hannibal's hand, taking the final piece of grape and slowly licking the juice from the fingers at his lips. Never breaking eye contact, he took one finger and sucked gently, first only slightly and then taking it all in. When satisfied with his display, he released Hannibal's captive hand. A moment of silence spread between them like syrup, warm and thick, when Hannibal's lips came again to Will's ear. 

"You're such a bewildering creature aren't you, Will? So chaste and so tempting. You are the loveliest thing I have seen in my life, all of Rome pales. See what you've done to me?" he took Will's hand and placed it on the hard bulge of his crotch. "Does it arouse you to know how I ache for you?"

"Yes..." an almost breathless response. Their noses touched slightly. "How long?"

"How long what, my darling?"

Will shivered at the new endearment and Hannibal took it as a sign to slide his one hand down Will's side and the other cupped his jaw softly. 

"How long have you essentially been my 'sugar daddy' and I haven't noticed?"

Hannibal blinked twice, stuck between a laugh and a grimace. "If you mean, your 'benefactor..."

"No, Hannibal. Sugar Daddy. You know what I mean." 

"I have been your..." he looked a Will. "Partner..."

"I'll allow it." 

"For some time now. The gifts were a whim that I'm afraid I became somewhat addicted to. You are a work of art in my eyes, my adoration of you extends to showing you off." 

"Marking me as yours to an audience."

"You could say that," Hannibal let a small smirk grace his lips as he continued to stroke the smooth skin of Will's cheek. 

"And just how extravagant were these gifts going to become before you told me?"

"I had hoped the glasses may have tipped you off, as I gave you no excuse for buying them beyond my want to. I planned to buy you a car. I was, and still am, willing to go to any lengths for your pleasure."

"Sugar Daddies normally get something in return," Will pressed himself closer into the touch of skin on skin, adoring the warmth. 

"A deplorable term. I'm giving you what you deserve and in return, I see a beauty elevated to perfection. I pay to see an Opera performed by experts so I may appreciate it's art. I pay to see you indulged so I may appreciate your beauty."

Will's hands itched to touch, his years of self imposed isolation suddenly grated on him like nails on chalkboard. He was touch starved, ever needing and ever wanting, squirming with reprise for a sweet string of words he'd longed to hear for who knows how long. 

"How will you appreciate my beauty?" his hand came to Hannibal's neck to stroke lightly with his fingertips. 

"How would my muse like to be worshiped?"

Will held his breath for a moment. "Kiss me."

It fell from his mouth before he could stop it. Each eyed the others lips hungrily, as though this had been the inevitable dance all along - the crime scenes, the therapy, all abandoned rouses in a hunt to satiate a hunger only the other could satisfy. Their heads angled together, lips mere centimeters from meeting. 

"Dr Lecter!" a firm, familiar voice rang out across the room. It startled them both as they pulled back. In the door, Franklyn stood with his hands pressed together in front of his chest, furiously involved in a self-sustained thumb war. His posture was stiff, held alert by the scene he had walked in on. All his gaze lay on Will and the hand that had yet to pull away from the good Doctor's neck. 

"Franklyn, it is after office hours. I must ask you to come back for when your next appointment is scheduled."

"I'm aware, Hanni-, Doctor," he corrected himself less than seamlessly. "However, I had something urgent and private that I needed to tell you."

Hannibal looked from Franklyn to Will, calmly assessing and seemingly unfazed. He noted a change in attire. The sweater and jacket were replaced by a plaid shirt. His beard was more trimmed to his face, regarding stubble more accurately than a beard. Finally, Hannibal took note of the entirely new smell of dog. 

"It is most unorthodox to show up to my office so late and expect council. Perhaps a phone call would have sufficed?"

"No, it's rather pressing. It's to do with the Shrike," at that Franklyn let a small smile slip in Will's direction. Both Hannibal and Will shared a look, disbelieving at it's core. 

"What do you know about the shrike?" Will asked.

"I'm here to discuss with Doctor Lecter, I would appreciate if you would stay out of it. Doctor Lecter, shall we?"

"We shall not. If you have information on the shrike your first port of call is the Police, Franklyn. I'm a psychiatrist not an investigator."

"But you work on the case!" Franklyn took a few steps in, suddenly noticing the intimate set up. "I see you've been enjoying your out of hours practice. Mr Graham here is a patient of yours, yet you see him?

"Will and I have more than a professional connection. Our relationship is more intimate than that of yours and mine. He is here as my guest, not my patient."

The words hit Franklyn like bullets, each confirmation a blow to his greater plan that physically manifested. His face flushed red, fists coiled tight and his limbs stiff. 

"I see, that's why you were so close when I came in. You made it quite clear to me only the other day, friendship would be unethical. What do you call this?" a single finger pointed to the whiskey and the platter. 

"A good night ruined," Will whispered to himself but Hannibal caught it. 

"Unethical is what it is. What is the difference between this man and me?" 

"Will and I are under no obligation to reveal anything to you. As for unethical, what would be truly unethical is eavesdropping on conversations with another of my patients, following that patient home, trespassing on his land and lying about your identity. From the stand point of a neurotic patient, that may be seen as stalking," Hannibal coolly listed off his offences and with each crime stepped forward - crowding Franklyn and herding him to the door. Yet, Franklyn glanced at Will and knew a sudden confidence. He stood face to face with Lecter, indignant and terrified. 

"I wanted to see this 'pet serial killer' from Quantico. I wanted to know what was so special you would lavish him with gifts, so special you would break your own ethics code."

Will blinked wildly; the stalker had noticed Hannibal's habits before he did? He let out a wild laugh. 

"What's so funny? You think this is a joke?" Franklyn almost spat the words. 

"Hannibal, tell me again about that car you're going to buy me, because if this man saw it first, I'm denser than I look," and he giggled to himself, lifting what was left of his whiskey to his mouth before downing it. 

"A car? A CAR? Just what sort of arrangement is this? Are you an agent or an escort?"

"I'm a hell of an escort if I've convinced him to buy me a car. Best blow jobs in the state, never mind the town."

"Will, there is no need to be vulgar," though the smile on Hannibal's face was telling. "I have told you, Will and I are more intimately related. What I choose to buy him is my own decision. I may buy him a car, a house or...lingerie. No matter the gift it would be none of your concern."

"Lingerie!" Franklyn grasped.

"Yes, I'd like to talk about that one too..." Will raised his hand carrying his whiskey to point at Hannibal. "That'll cost extra."

"That's it, I'm drawing the line," Franklyn grasped at Hannibal's hand, finding it icy to the touch. "As someone who cares for you. you can't let people like this into your life!" He waved an accusing finger at Will who feigned hurt. 

"Can't you see he's using you for your money! And the things they say about him Hannibal, he's dangerous, he'll get you killed. And you have nothing in common! He's drab, common and uninteresting. You could do so much better, you don't have to lower yourself for companionship. Whatever sex your getting out of him there's better out there."

Hannibal shot an amused glance to Will who looked on and said "He's right, I'm a complete gold digger. I told you I like that suit of armor in your bedroom. That's been my real goal all along. I'm not even mentally unwell. All a clever rouse you see."

"And how were you to get it out of my bedroom unseen?"

"I'll have you know we escorts have a proud history of drugging people and making off with money," Will sat with his legs spread wide on the couch, an odd thrill of exhibitionism consuming him as he stroked his thigh under Hannibal's watchful eye. 

"This isn't a joke! If sex is all this is then it's completely unethical, and immoral."

"What if it isn't just sexual?" Hannibal turned his attention back to Franklyn. "What if I were to tell you I am madly in love with Will and intend to propose to him? Say you've insulted the future, Mr William Lecter."

At that, the room stopped for a moment. Will stopped stroking his thigh and felt the blood flow to his dick. He was stuck in same dumbfounded silence as Franklyn, starring blankly out at Hannibal who had begun to move back to his place at Will's side. He sat, graceful as ever, and placed a hand to Will's knee. 

"I don't believe you!" Franklyn's response was loud enough to fill the whole office. He puffed his chest full of air and brought his shoulders up. " I don't believe you, why would you pair with someone so unlike you."

"Will and I are exactly alike," Hannibal's hand slid slowly up Will's thigh. " We share a morbidity."

"He hates the Opera."

"I'm well aware."

"He has seven dogs and can't cook." 

"I said I can gut a mean trout," Will cut in. 

"This is unbelievable, Doctor Lecter. There's no reason fro you to be with this man." 

"Oh?" and Will saw a smile from Hannibal he knew could only be followed by a finishing blow. "I find him undeniably attractive and have spent the last few months lavishing him with gifts to see that attractiveness more. Quite frankly, I shall fuck who I wish, and if I fuck Will, I'm sure you'll be the first to know, since you spend so much time in his bushes."

Silence. Will felt his cock stiffen at the idea. 


	3. The man who watches and waits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franklyn's ridiculous plans are revealed, and thoroughly smashed, all by one pretty boy with seven dogs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to any of you who know Coco de Mer is a real posh sex shop in London. It's dank but hella expensive and size range is like 'meh'.

Everything was ruined thanks to Will Graham. 

His months of intricate planning; casually attending the Opera with a handsome friend in tow, polishing his knowledge of finer food and drink. All wasted because of a gruff looking man who could not in any way be Lecter's equal. Of course, Franklyn didn't consider himself Lecter's equal...yet. The training wasn't completed. How he'd mined the internet for every piece of information, like a jagged jigsaw, sewing together remnants of high societal pieces and crime scene leaks. Count Hannibal Lecter VIII, born January 20th 1973, of Lithuanian descent and a formidable family bloodline dating back to 'Hannibal the Grim'. His preferred wine was Amarone, paired with a Filet Mignon and Porcini Mushroom compound butter, green bean almondine to preference. His favourite cheese was Monte Veronese Ubriaco; Franklyn couldn't have chosen better himself. They had so much in common, so many shared values. 

In his solitude, he often liked to imagine the day Hannibal would welcome him into his world of glittering finery. All his life, Franklyn had stood on the doorstep, eagerly peering into the world of the beautiful, waiting for his invitation to join them. A few times he thought it might come. A few times he was let down. He understood that not everyone could be in that heavenly circle, not everyone was meant for greatness. He simply wanted to observe it as first, to drink it in like a fine wine - to be intoxicated by it, soothed by it. Then, there was Hannibal. He'd never been so close to greatness in his life. From the moment they met he knew Hannibal was special. The way he dressed so well, spoke low with his foreign tones like music in the air. Hannibal Lecter was the one; the man who would take him away from the common rabble that barely comprehended beauty, and anoint him anew in the world of the great. 

He was the one. Until Will Graham ruined everything. The man was so stark in his contrasts to the Doctor that it almost seemed comical. Hannibal walked with assured grace, like a dancer. Graham walked like a recently woken comatose patient, unsure of every step. Hannibal's speech was eloquent, deft, almost a seduction of words. Graham's crude southern tones played the wronged tune, hitting and missing every note. They were undeniably not well matched. That day in Wolf Trap, Franklyn desperately tried to see what the Doctor could see. He wanted so desperately to know what beautiful creature made Hannibal Lecter, Count by birth, ruler by blood, lavish affection like a love struck child - and lavish is was. He saw the gifts between them. He learnt to schedule his appointment either just before or just after Will's. Then, he could see the presents lying around, over hear the conversation as Hannibal handed his little protege another trinket and casually swipe his fingers along some stretch of bare skin to punctuate his movements. That night with the glasses was the worst. He left the room and saw Will waiting for his following appointment, they passed each other with a nod as they exchanged places. 

"Will, I have new glasses for you," Hannibal had said, pushing his hand into his blazer pocket and producing a stylish pair. Will seemed shocked but did nothing as the good Doctor fit the pair himself, brushing his face with his fingertips and gently fixing stray curls. Franklyn was sure he went positively pale. It was intimate, inappropriate, unethical. From there he needed to know more about the man stealing Hannibal away. A knot tied in his stomach as he thought of Doctor Lecter's fingers caressing soft skin with a tempered touch. His heart fluttered. He needed to know what Will Graham possessed that Hannibal wanted, so he could make it his own. When he did that, he would steal away everything. The gifts, the attention, Hannibal's adoration. He saw it that night, their faces almost kissing, hard on's clear through the unforgiving material of their trousers. It made him sick. Even Hannibal was aroused; he'd never seen the Doctor so ruffled. His silver hair falling forward, eyes hooded and hungry for the beauty in his eyesight. Thinking of him like that made Franklyn hard. It needed to be him. He was the one Hannibal should find beauty and companionship. He was the one he should look at with hungry eyes.

Franklyn looked down at some of his more recent purchases. A dozen or so flannel shirts spread out across his bed spread accompanied by fishing rods he didn't know how to use and a manual on sailing a boat he didn't own. If it was rustic charm Hannibal desired, then so be it. That was the only thing Will had going for him. It was obviously about the nature; Hannibal was a great lover of beauty and where was more beautiful than nature itself? Yes, Will was no great mind but of simpler stock. Physically inciting but he was sure Hannibal would grow bored of someone with looks but no interesting conversation. That was where he would win him over. He knew, with complete clarity, this Will could never compare to his own mental proclivity. Will was a toy boy; nice to look at but a poor equal for someone like Hannibal. Franklyn held up one of the shirts and flashed back to the scene in the office. They both looked so very perfect in the moment, Will could be beautiful and it was that beauty, that natural edge, that Franklyn could copy. 

He timidly looked over to the bag on the other side of his bed. It sat, yet unopened and waiting. He never shopped at Victoria's Secret before. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Will rubbed his eyes and blinked as he looked at his phone. 

_I want you to come shopping with me this afternoon. I'm free of appointments and I know your lectures are done for the day. - Hannibal._

His head started swimming at the mere thought. It was two days since their date and wild interruption. Will called it a date since he didn't much like the idea of just getting hard for his therapist one day. His coarse hands continued their slow rubbing of his dry skin, massaging his temples in circular movements. His classes were done and he was done with today. 2 packed lecture halls full of student eagerly counting down till the next break. 3 essays baring striking similarities, enough to pull them in for plagiarism. 4 phones not on silent ringing whilst he taught. 

_I'll come. Where should I meet you? - Will_

_No need for that. I will pick you up in an hour. See you then. - Hannibal_

Soon enough, Hannibal's Bentley pulled in front of the lecture building and Will was painfully aware of lingering students stopping for a peak. The man himself exited the driver's side wearing a painfully immaculate tartan suit, and came to the passenger's side to open the door. Will heard the murmur spread through the small crowd. 

"You certainly know how to make an entrance, Doctor."

"Naturally," and he placed a small kiss to Will's cheek. Then, Will definitely heard the small set of gasps that sounded off behind them. He stood still a moment. starring Hannibal intently in the eye, finding a small, coy smirk forming on the man's lips. 

"We're at work," was all he could think to say. 

"No, you are outside of work, as am I," and Hannibal helped Will to his seat before shutting the door promptly and resuming his place in the driver's side.

"Jack is definitely going to hear about this."

"Why? Are your students gossips?" Hannibal turned to glance at Will fondly. 

"Not normally, but their hermit lecturer who doesn't like eye contact suddenly having a man in a sharp suit and a Bentley kiss him? I'll have emails from debt ridden students asking me how I did it so they can copy," Will let an easy laugh roll off his tongue. The drive into the center of Baltimore was relatively peaceful, they kept a comfortable silence listening to symphonies pour through the speakers. He needed this break, this peace that Hannibal promised and always delivered on. The late autumn was turning to early winter and few places showed it more than the roads. What was once great green fields was nothing but sodden brown earth covered in frost. The trees, dark-grey wood, stood leafless with gnarled limbs twisting out like antlers. It was -1**°**C outside the car. Inside, Hannibal put on the heated seats and Will sank down into the smooth leather, letting it warm his aching muscles. 

On reaching their destination, Hannibal pulled into a parking lot Will didn't recall. It was underground and had a single valet driver working the barrier.

"I've never seen this place before."

"A private lot for customers of a select few shops. It's not large but it's a decent reward for loyalty," Hannibal handed his keys to the valet and motioned for Will to exit. The young man at the booth nodded politely, replacing Hannibal at the wheel and driving off into the lot. The weather was much worse without the warmth of the car. Will shoved his hands into his pockets lamenting his choice in jacket. 

"Here," Hannibal stretched out one hand. Will hesitated for a second but then took it. The skin was warm and slightly rough, the hands of a retired medic. Hannibal placed them hand in hand back into his pocket. stroking one thumb across the length of Will's hand and securing them in the soft wool lining. Will felt the blush rise on his face. 

"What are we getting today?" he asked to take his mind off it. 

"You need a coat. I won't have you catch cold because you refuse to look after yourself. Once we have that... underwear."

"Underwear?"

"I believe I mentioned lingerie only a few days ago," Hannibal's eyes glanced to catch Will's reaction. 

"I vaguely remember joking, telling you it would cost extra," he smiled weakly, unsure of whether this was all serious. 

"Is that so? What would it cost me?" he leaned close to Will's ear. "Perhaps you'd like that new car, or a boat. I would buy you either, so long as you would allow me the pleasure of seeing you in a set of my choosing."

Will swallowed hard. The thought of Hannibal seeing him in such a ridiculous state; delicate lacy underwear, stockings, a garter - it painted an absurd picture in his own head. He was a 5 ft 9 man, not stocky and built but broad and slim fit. Not to mention, his stubble and soft middle. Nothing about him was feminine, or feminine enough to look good in lingerie. 

"Hannibal, I'd look silly."

"You would look delicious," again his hot breath came at Will's ear. "You would seem to me so perfect, I may take to worshiping you on the spot. Would you like that Will? Would you like me to worship your nude figure?"

"God, Hannibal. I wasn't even this kinky as a teenager," it came out in hot, heavy breathes as both hands came to grip at Hannibal's lapel. 

"We grow into what we like as adults. Come, we'll get the coat first and then, our real en devour."

The two slowly walked along, hands still intertwined in Hannibal's pocket. Most of the shops weren't ones Will recognized, though admittedly he had expected as much. Hannibal's standard of shopping was a little different from his own. They visited two coat shops, the second being the more productive. Hannibal made him try on close to 15 different coats, helping him in and out of them, smoothing the fabric and, in Will's opinion, using it too often as an excuse to stroke him intimately in public. Once, his fingertips stayed a second to long as Will's neck and an assistant cleared their throat. They shared a look, Hannibal unapologetic for his crime and Will amused at his candor around company. They settled on a slate grey, cashmere trench coat. It cut a certain figure, much more refined and tailored than Will's own moth eaten jackets. On leaving the shop, they turned down a small side alley, something Will had never noticed in the area before. 

"Dr. Lecter, if you're trying to kidnap me, it'd have been easier just to do it at my house. I don't have neighbors."

"No kidnapping today, Will. However, do tell me if any of the rope interests you."

"The rope?"

They stopped outside a small scale shop, a little pushed back from the rest of the side street. A brown sign hung over head, 'Coco de mer' was written in script. Everything outside was painted the colour of warm chocolate and through the window pains Will could see a small display of rope, books, a sleeping mask and a mannequin adorned with a silken kimono. Behind that he couldn't make out much, the walls seemed a deep red illuminated in places by dim orange lights. He took another look at the mannequin. The kimono was stunning, it looked soft to the touch and flowed beautifully to meet the items at it's feet. It took a moment, but he registered everything together. 

"This is a sex shop," Will rubbed one eye with his left hand. 

"It is the only place to buy quality lingerie in Baltimore."

"Victoria's Secret has like a million locations."

"I see, you'd like to stand in a crowded shop of women and pick out something in an agreeable bright pink. Perhaps we could get you a matching body spray? Or a quilted toiletries bag?"

Will shot him a dirty look. "The posh sex shop it is."

"I see no difference between this and any other sex shop."

"Hannibal," he prolonged his stare into the Doctor's eyes. "Would you ever step foot into a shop called XXX advertising adult videos behind a beaded curtain maintained by a man named Chuck who looks like the kid that used to watch porn at school?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then it's a posh sex shop."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Franklyn watched eagerly as the two walked around town unaware of his presence. This time he really was just innocently shopping when he saw the pair emerge from a side door leading who knows where. More importantly, he noticed Will's hand inside Doctor Lecter's pocket. So brazen and out in public. To think of the Doctor's reputation being ruined by the mere sight of him with someone like that. Say high society caught whiff of it, Hannibal engaged in indecent activity with some nobody. They might start to look down on him, isolate him further from the world. Franklyn knew he couldn't let that happen. If he and Hannibal were together he'd be so careful about his reputation, wouldn't insist on public contact, not at first. This Will Graham was breaking all the rules, stealing away his very fantasies now. How often did he think of Hannibal introducing him to the finer things? Buying him gifts to elevate his style and standing. Will was living the dream. Franklyn's dream. 

He followed them both to the coat shop where he just managed to make out the coat Will was trying on. He watched as Hannibal's hands roamed Will's taut body, fingertips lingering too long to be just friendly, and the sickening eye contact they held through out. It was wrong. So wrong and unethical. As they left the shop he struggled to keep far enough away, knowing Hannibal had senses far too sensitive to be taken by surprise. Once or twice, he saw the Doctor's step slow and peer over his shoulder. Both times he took cover in the entrance of a nearby shop and managed to evade notice. Will seemed perfectly comfortable bumbling along, and though he couldn't hear it, he was sure it was inane chatter. He was most likely boring Hannibal to death with fishing stories or going on about work. 

They turned suddenly, making their way down a side street he'd never seen before. That would be more difficult. Following them in a crowded area gave plenty of hiding spaces but an alley might be completely empty. He peered round and saw them stood half way down gazing up at a shop entrance. He couldn't make out what they were saying. Suddenly, he felt a digging pain at his hip. His underwear was too tight and the elastic was biting into the skin of his hip. In the time it took him to look down and adjust, they had disappeared. He ran, almost tripping on cobbled stone and looked at the shop they'd entered. It made him want to weep. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inside was as decadent as Will expected. The wallpaper was a deep red, interrupted by the swirls of material black lace. Everything was offset by the glow of the lights, purposefully orange and dim to keep the atmosphere tight. Most things were kept inside glass cabinets; it ranged from ropes, paddles and things that Will only assumed were various sex toys.

"Good afternoon," a slow voice came from the counter. A woman in her thirties to forties, angular face with small, pert lips pressed together. Her black bob was offset by her paleness and the contemplated by the pitch black of her uniform. "How may I help the gentlemen today."

"We are looking for your lingerie, preferably your Bordelle or own-brand collection."

"Yes, right this way, sir." Emerging from the desk she revealed her high stilettos, effortlessly gliding across wooden floor to a small rack on the west wall. "These are our most recent stock of Coco de Mer lingerie. You'll find Bordelle's latest season on the rack adjacent. Is there a style you would like help finding?"

"The Seraphine collection from your own store, and the Athene Kimono if in stock."

"Of course, one moment." Her nimble fingers set to work on the delicate fabrics at her disposal. Will focused in on her face, trying to avoid Hannibal's gaze. She had a graceful roman nose that twitched as each piece slid past on the rail. Her eyes, brown and dark, scanned tirelessly behind false lashes. Finally, she pulled a black suspender from the rack and looked at the couple. 

"There are three options for this collection. The G-string, the Brazilian or the original spanking knickers."

"Which would you suggest for a man?" Hannibal let it drop coolly between them.

"For a man to wear? The Brazilian. In this style, it has the most support for a gentleman up front whilst still being revealing of the behind."

"Oh is it now?" Will's voice was weak with a mix of surprise and apprehension. He noticed how smoothly Hannibal knew exactly what he was looking for, as though thoroughly researched. He imagined himself in the black silk satin and lace, the breeze on his arse spectacularly unnerving. 

"Black will suit you better than other colours. Don't you agree?" Hannibal smiled. 

"I agree that you've certainly planned this out."

"It's best to be prepared," Hannibal turned to the assistant. "And the Kimono?" 

"I will fetch a large from the back if it is also for a man's frame. Whilst I'm there I'll put these by the register for you," she hoisted the purchases away, heels clicking on the wood again as she disappeared.

"Hannibal."

"Will."

"How much are we here for? You said lingerie, not a kimono."

"I had a brief shopping list. We have the underwear, the suspenders and I see a fine pair of stockings over by the back wall. With the kimono that's all I had planned, but do tell me if something takes your eye." Hannibal smiled and laced his arm around Will's midriff. Something in the way he said 'if something takes your eye' made Will feel he was being encouraged to browse. He looked around the shop, the glass cabinets were intimidating and brimming with items that he knew were foreign to him. He glanced at a near by glass case. Inside were a number of flogs and paddles, some intricately woven whilst others were simple. He noticed a plain ruler in the corner with the words 'Thank you' engraved in the wood. 

"Find something?" Hannibal gave a sly smile, flashing his canines. 

"Just looking, don't get ideas."

"I did ride for while whilst my Aunt was alive. I would be partial to a riding crop if they have one."

"Doctor Lecter, I'll take that riding crop and crop you if you even think of it."

"I am open to whatever you like, Will." Hannibal took his hand in his own and brought it to his lips. "Though I have quite the pain tolerance, you may have to hit me hard till I obey."

Will's cock twitched at the idea and he gripped Hannibal's hand tightly as the store assistant returned. 

"Sir, would you remove your jacket?"

Will took the initiative to remove his old coat, painfully aware that the assistant knew which of them was the doll being dressed up. It fit smoothly, if a little snug, cascading down in blue waves adorned in white lace. It came up a little short on a man. 

"Perfect. We will take this, the Seraphine set as discussed and a riding crop, if you have one," Hannibal reached into his inner pocket for his wallet. 

"Brown or black leather, sir."

"Black."

"I didn't say yes to the riding crop," Will hissed in his ear but his resolve abandoned him as Hannibal turned to face him head on. The slight height difference seemed so much bigger, amplified by the low lit darkness of the shop behind.

"You mustn't shrink so, Will. How do you plan on punishing me when I over step if you won't scold me properly?" a sinister smile came to the Doctor's face. He placed his arm back around Will's middle and let his fingertips stroke him gently. "I think there will be plenty for us to do tonight, don't you?"

"Tonight?" Will's voice was distant as he watched his partner through hooded eyes. Hannibal pressed his lips to shell of his ear, letting his hot breath tantalize the sweet spot. 

"Yes, tonight. I must see you in your new attire."

The shop assistant returned, riding crop in hand. She passed it to Hannibal to inspect and he then passed it to Will. The leather was new and warm to the touch. He imagined the feel of it against his thighs. 

"We'll take it," Hannibal handed it back and paid for their purchases. Everything was bundled away neatly into two stylish but plain paper bags. The lingerie was wrapped in a dark purple tissue paper before being stowed in a box all it's own, a small Coco de Mer logo sat in the right hand corner. As they walked back out into the cold, Will finally realized how flushed his face was. In the sight of the glass he looked like a deer in headlights, apt to run all the way back to Wolf Trap. The afternoon was drawing on, the clouds were darker now and threatened rain any minute. 

"One last stop."

"One more stop might kill me."

"Coffee, Will. I know that wasn't easy for you," Hannibal offered his arm and Will took it, resting his head lightly against the elder's shoulder. 

"I prefer your coffee to any shop. Take me home," he closed his eyes and nuzzled his head in closer. 

"You mean to my home?"

"You know the home I'm talking about," Will lifted his head and caught Hannibal's gaze. It wouldn't be long, he knew, before he moved in or Hannibal came to him. It depended which of them would break first. They didn't often spend nights apart anymore, other than when Will went home for his dogs. Hannibal would get used to them, he already had, in truth. Leaning closer, their lips edged together, dry from the air but tongues wet and ready to please. 

"Doctor Lecter! Agent Graham! What a surprise!" a familiar voice cut through their moment. Hannibal's eye twitched as he held his face still close to Will's without turning to see his now adversary. 

"Aš jį užmušiu," a whisper left his lips. 

"How strange to see you here. I was just on my way to the local Artisan cheese market. Perhaps, you would care to join me?" Franklyn stood around two meters away, just in front of the store he hid in as the two exited the shop. It was disgusting. He saw it all happen. He saw them inside picking out the most lewd underwear imaginable, seen Hannibal's hand snake around Will's waste, but worst of all, he saw the riding crop. Such vulgar fantasies this fisherman had, dragging Hannibal into his dark whims. Mostly, it burnt him to know that these luxuries, these dark indulgences belonged to someone so undeserving.

"Franklyn," this time Hannibal could not hide his tone. He had been denied his desires twice in as many days. "It is disappointing to see you stalking us."

"Stalking? Don't be silly. I live in Baltimore, we're bound to see one another."

"Yeah, and I live in Virginia. I'm bound to met Rob Lowe," Will shot him a tired glance. It had been a long day and the last thing he wanted was another showdown with the 'cheese' man. 

"If you'd rather not join us, William, feel free," Franklyn spoke his name like an affront to God. "I can see you have both been busy."

"Franklyn, I believe now is the time to tell you I will be referring you to another psychiatrist."

"What?" he stepped back aghast. "You can't! I'm making progress!"

"Progress? You are stalking my partner and I through the streets of Baltimore. You have regressed, Franklyn. You are more interested in me than in moving forward, therefore I can longer help you. I am cancelling our further appointments effective immediately and will refer you to a different Doctor. I'm sorry I could not help you."

A moment of silence hung between them, Franklyn stood dumb founded in frozen shock. Will reckoned it was unpleasant news, but for the best. If he was so obsessed with Hannibal it would lead to no good. Though he knew how hypocritical that was coming from him. 

"Your partner?"

Will stood and blinked for a moment that, that was what he chose to focus on. 

"Your partner!" this time it was a shout. "Meeting you in the street is cause to let me go but this serial killing charity case is your partner?"

"You are being very rude, Mr Froideveaux," Hannibal's face was expressionless again. 

"Rude? I'm rude? What's rude is dumping me because you found some boy toy who could never understand you the way I do! Don't you see he's only doing this to get between us?"

Hannibal and Will shared a look. "I'm not a psychiatrist, but even I know there's a lot to unpack in that sentence," Will shrugged. 

"You think this is a joke? Why don't you admit it, admit why you're really with him!"

"Alright," Will turned to Hannibal with a lazy smile. "I'm literally the horniest I've ever been in my life and it's all your fault, you handsome foreign man, so do something about it."

Franklyn's jaw fell open, unable to even conceive of speaking so crudely to someone in elevated circles. Hannibal's top right lip curled into a crooked smile before he let out a short laugh. 

"I have planned to."


	4. The man who submits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, it's the smut chapter where Hannibal and Will get down to using their new gear... and you have to read to the end for Franklyn's appearance.

Hannibal's dinner table was set to perfection. Four vibrant red candles sat alight, flames dancing, casting light and shadow over an arrangement of white roses. The room was dark with the chandelier dimmed low; it was a stage designed so perfectly, all else in the room lost to darkness and the focus on the oaken table. Hannibal set two spaces at either end. He instructed Will upstairs, his tone darker, more commanding. A suit was laid out in the guest bedroom, the one Will often choose to sleep in when he stayed the night.

"You will put on your new undergarments and the suit left in your room. You will join me for Dinner at 7, not a minute later. Do you understand me, Will?"

The command was stern but not harsh. His voice had lost the playfulness of earlier, there was just the authority of a man much more experienced than Will.

"Yes.”

"Yes..." Hannibal gave him a look.

"Yes, Doctor Lecter," Will blushed at the new formality. They were never so professional, not since their relationship changed.

"To your room," he gestured to the stairs but caught Will's arm before he left. "And remember, 7."

Walking to the first floor seemed surreal in the darkness, as though he could be trapped in Lecter's castle somewhere in far off Lithuania. He felt small as everything leered above him, around him, forcing him on to the only light glowing from his guest room. The sheets were pristine and the colour of deep burgundy wine. The suit was a dark blue with a fine stitch of white through its seams, paired with a white shirt and matching trousers. Will glanced at the clock to see it was 18:40. Only 20 minutes until he was expected. He started quickly with the box from Coco de Mer, delicately placing the tissue paper aside to investigate further. The Brazilian G-string was tight against his balls but the assistant wasn't wrong; there was ample support even if he had to place himself very carefully. The suspenders were fiddly, and the stockings itched at first. He caught sight of himself in the length ways mirror, exposed, vulnerable and almost revealing more than he would if he were nude. The art of concealment to reveal more than thought.

The suit was less hassle, though he noticed the trousers were very snug. They clung to his ass, making it seem pert under the stretched fabric. Even the shirt was a little more sheer than usual. Looking at the time he realized he only had 2 minutes to spare. He smoothed his hair in places and popped in a spare pair of contacts he kept in the night stand draw. Barely in time, he stood at the top of the stairs, letting out small, shallow breaths to calm his pounding heart. The sound of plates being moved prompted him to move slowly down. Hannibal had served the food at their settings and was waiting expectantly for his guest.

"You're late," his voice was emotionless.

"I put in contacts, so I could see this better," Will sounded calmer than he was.

"Come, sit," ever the gentlemen, Hannibal pulled out Will's seat and waited for him to take it. As he sat, he felt the ghost of fingertips up his neck before a hot mouth being pressed to his ear. "I do not like to be kept waiting." A strange shiver went from Will's head to the base of his spine. Hannibal returned to his seat and promptly raised his glass.

"To civility," he motioned for Will to lift his own glass, already full of a strong-smelling red wine. He did so and they toasted. "The meal tonight is Seared Roast Pork with Plum Raspberry Gastrique and dark chocolate truffles for dessert."

"Sounds delicious," Will swallowed hard and waited to put down his glass until Hannibal did the same. The darkness still loomed in the corners, great patches of unknown that made the dining table feel like the only real thing. They sat in that darkness eating silently, nothing but their breath and the sounds of the forks on plates to break it. The pressure in Will's head was building; between the room and the silence, the feel of the too sheer shirt against his bare skin and the tightness of the suspender, he was reminded of the space between himself and the person he wanted most.

"Are you comfortable, Will?"

"Huh? Yes, of course."

"You don't seem it. Perhaps you have tied your suspenders too tightly in your haste? Come here," he extended one hand and beckoned Will forward. The invitation hung in the air for a moment before he registered it and stood slowly. He approached Hannibal on his right, unsure of what he was going to do. Swiftly, Hannibal pushed his half-finished plate forward, enough as so to make space on the table.

"Here," he motioned for Will to take his place in front of him, resting firmly between Hannibal's own legs. Then, he lifted his deft fingers to the fly on Will's trousers, pulling it slowly. Will could feel it dragging against the delicate skin of his groin, the last remnants of his dignity ready to be shed. Hannibal pulled gently from the waistband, revealing the intricate silk satin beneath. He wouldn't touch it. Will watched intently, waiting for a hand or a palm to stroke him where he needed it most, but it never came. Pushing the trousers down to his upper thigh, Hannibal stopped at the suspenders linked to the stockings. His nimble fingers found the clasp quickly and loosened it, doing the same for the other leg. "There, fixed."

His hand lingered only a fraction of a second over the sensitive flesh of Will's thigh before retreating to his own side.

"Fix yourself and sit down. Your food is getting cold," Hannibal starred straight into Will's eyes, unwavering, committed in their absence of touch, in his deprivation of Will's most basic desire. He'd never deprived him before. Their everything was based on him spoiling his other half; fine whiskey, home cooked meals, rope and leather.

"Quickly now," Hannibal pressed him on and Will finally zipped himself back together then sat in his chair. A prickling heat still ran down his thighs where Hannibal touched, the only place he touched.

"You are quite forgetting your manners today, my darling," Hannibal took a small bite of his pork, the juices rolling on his tongue, meat so tender it melted in his mouth. "I did not receive a thank you for helping you with your new accessories."

Will's hands froze. "Thank you."

"Good boy."

Just like before, Will’s cock pulsed at the words. The smell of the burning wax mixed with sweet raspberry glaze assaulted his nostrils, pushing further up into his head, causing a mist of heaviness in his brain. Everything sat on the razor’s edge. He heard the clock ticking from another room. He heard the din of Hannibal’s fork as he brought it to his mouth, slowly wrapping his lips around the meat and showing a flash of teeth. Shadows fell, obscuring his face at odd angles - making him almost unrecognisable, dreamlike in appearance and terrifying in presence. A slim finger tapping at the tablecloth caught Will’s attention.

“Your mind is elsewhere.”

“I’m just… over-stimulated.”

“Does my food…,” Hannibal paused thoughtfully. “Stimulate you, Will?”

It sent shivers down his spine to hear the word so casually said. It brought images to mind of being on his knees, looking up at Hannibal.

“It’s rude not to answer me, Will.”

“I’m fine,” his voice came out huffy. He took his fork and moved the food around on the plate.

“It’s also rude to play with your food, do I need to remind you there will be consequences for bad behaviour at my dinner table?”

Will’s breathe caught; a strange, dense crackle could be felt in the air. All the hairs on his neck stood alert. His mouth opened before he registered it.

“I’m not being rude.”

“Are you not?”

“No, you’re just stuffy,” Will held Hannibal’s gaze, starring down intense, brown eyes.

“I see. So, you’d insult me in my own home?” Hannibal continued to eat, maintaining the eye contact.

“It’s practically my home, too. I sleep here each night. You cook for me, you drive me everywhere, you buy me things.”

“It appears I’ve spoilt you too much.”

“You said you’d buy me a car, so apparently not enough,” Will moved the meat around on his plate again, carelessly flinging it back and forth like a child.

“Apologise for your rude remarks.”

A heavy silence sat between them, stifling and warm. The candlelight swayed, throwing dancing shadows across the walls.

“No.”

Will knew it was more a tease than a statement; read between the intimate lines of their very intertwined psyche it meant only one thing – make me. Again, a thick silence, broken only as Hannibal put down his utensils and brought his hands to rest in front of him.

“William, I don’t tolerate the rude at this table. We shall have to discuss an apt punishment for your behaviour.”

“I don’t want to. I haven’t done anything to deserve it.”

“Have you not?” the high-pitched screech of wood moving against the floor rang out as Hannibal stood. “Perhaps I have sparred the rod and spoilt the child too much.”

“That’s your fault, not mine,” Will let his fork drop, it’s impact with the delicate plate echoing.

“Do you know how much that dinner service cost?” Hannibal slowly walked towards Will’s chair, coming to his side and then looming behind him. Not touching him, just standing, out of sight and ominous as a voice with no face.

“No.”

“Each plate is $260. Could you afford that, Will? If you broke one.”

“That’s not so bad,” he shrugged his shoulders.

“I see, my ungrateful little protégé. Perhaps I shall bill you for everything I have bought you?” Hannibal leaned in close, his hot breath ghosting the rim of Will’s ear. “At Coco de Mer, I spent nearly $2000. Your new coat, $1000. The glasses, $500. Shall I go on?”

Will blinked in shock. He knew it was all expensive but never _that _much. Hannibal’s hand shifted into the curls at the back of his neck and tugged slightly, pulling Will to look up into his face.

“So, would you like the rest?”

“No,” it was more a breath than a word.

“You’re far too spoiled, Will. I must raise you better. Normally, I am a less than kind man to the rude, but for you… a spanking may remedy my displeasure. You deserve that don’t you?”

Will sat still, holding Hannibal’s gaze until he felt a tight tug at his hair.

“Say it.”

“Yes, I deserve it.”

“You deserve what?”

“I deserve a spanking,” Will trembled with the words in his mouth.

“And why do you deserve it?” Hannibal pressed on.

“I deserve a spanking bec-,” he was interrupted by a significantly harder tug at his curls that made his head dizzy.

“No, _your_ spanking, Will. Own your punishment, it belongs to you, you are the reason for it,” Hannibal’s eyes grew dark and his rough fingers entangled more with the messy brown locks at his disposal.

“I… I deserve _my_ spanking, bec-because I’ve been rude… and ungrateful.”

“Good boy,” the hand in Will’s hair loosened and one finger stroked his spine, spreading shocks of warmth down his back. “Now, you’re going to fetch my riding crop from its bag in the living room, then you will meet me in my bedroom promptly. Do you understand?”

Will wordlessly nodded his head, almost afraid to acknowledge out loud what he was going to do.

“Good boy. Go, now. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

Ever the gentleman, Hannibal pulled out Will’s chair and extended a hand to help him up. His gaze sat hungrily with Will’s body, observing the sheerness of his top and the tightness of the jacket that made such a pretty silhouette. Once parted, Hannibal made his way upstairs, being swallowed by the darkness at the top. Will crept to the living room, afraid to make noise in case the very delicate world they were in shattered like glass against the carpet. Everything outside the windows had faded to black. This liminal space, dark and intimate, held only them in it’s stifling bosom. All the outside world was gone; there was only the house and the dining table and the bed, on which Will would find himself made again.

The bag sat on the couch. He hesitated to touch it, feeling the boundary between could have and did baring down on him. Sweat ran down his neck and slid down his spine. Hannibal was waiting. Finally, he picked it up, shedding the paper bag in his haste, and made for the stairs. They loomed ominously, like a gapping mouth waiting to consume him. Each step stayed silent under his weight, letting him slip into the darkness and turn to the room where his evening lay waiting.

He only visited Hannibal’s room on rare occasion. Until recently, their relationships had yet to take a sexual turn. Once he visited in the night to ask for aspirin to find the Doctor reading in bed. The second time, he sleep walked in and woke standing next to Hannibal’s sleeping body. As was natural, the room was polished to a fine point. The dark panelling, a faint foliage green against the accented blue of the plain walls, faded together in the shadows. In the belly of the room, the fireplace was alive; deep smouldering embers flashed like jewels. The smell of nutmeg and orange hung lazily in the air, kissed with base notes of oriental musk and vanilla.

Hannibal stood poised next to his bed, crisp blue sheets arranged without a wrinkle. The man himself was still immaculate, his black tartan suit pressed and fresh. A few errant strands of hair fell to his eyes, the way they only did when he was entranced.

“Have you brought my riding crop?” his words rang clear. Will raised the crop with both hands and passed it to Hannibal in silence. “Good, now I am going to sit here whilst you undress.”

Hannibal took his seat on the ottoman, careful to place the crop at his side and gestured for Will to take his place in front. Each step he took was punctuated in the silence by a loud clack on the wooden floor. First, he removed his dress shoes, almost preferring the cold to their noise. He looked to Hannibal on some sign of what next but received nothing but a heavy, concentrated gaze starring deep into his eyes. The jacket. It was too heavy anyway. Too restrictive. He lowered one shoulder to remove it as he normally would but stopped. Will noticed the ever so slight change in Hannibal’s breathing.

If Hannibal was to make a spectacle of him, then the least he could do in return was drive Hannibal wild. He lowered both his shoulders, letting the jacket sit at his elbows and then drift to the floor to pool at his feet. Then the shirt. He let his hands slide up his chest, stretching the thin fabric to reveal delicate flashes of skin. Starting from the top, he undid each button slowly, starring intently into Hannibal’s eyes. He saw the tense of muscles. The ache to touch. Soon, the shirt was undone leaving a display of pale flesh and a soft middle.

He let it fall much the same way as the jacket. All that expensive fabric in a dishevelled pile at his feet. The next piece would be the trousers, and underneath, the black silk satin reminder of Hannibal’s influence. Will let one hand trail down his stomach and a thumb stroked lightly at the edge of his waistband. Hannibal’s eyes went to it, glared at the singular movement like a predator drawn to the movement of prey. Will undid the zip. The first glimpse of lingerie thrillingly peaking from behind blue fabric.

He shimmed the waistband down and finally let them drop before stepping aside to stand. The heat from the fire radiated up his backside, exposed and fresh in his new-found nudity. It cut a beautiful image; his long legs adorned in black stockings whilst his stiffening cock hid behind the lace.

“Good boy,” Hannibal’s voice was deeper than before. “Now, come here so I can bend you over my knee.”

Will was unsure at first, not with his punishment – that he was almost excited for, but the positioning. He had never done this before. Stepping forward hesitantly, Hannibal noticed the trepidation in his step. A warm hand outstretched.

“Kneel on the ottoman next to me, then lie across my lap. Keep your hips and buttocks lifted,” his hand guided Will to kneel and then to bend down, a solid weight against his shoulder as his face pressed into the rough fabric of the ottoman. He squirmed at the new sensation.

“Do not move, Will, or I shall add to your punishment,” Hannibal’s arm held him firmly in place. Will stopped struggling against it and lay silent.

“Are you worried, Will? How much do you think it will hurt?”

“I’m an adult, not 5. I could take as much as you could,” Will rasped.

“Is that so?” the feeling of soft leather from the crop ran up Will’s thigh to the edge of tender flesh at his arse. “Did I not tell you I have a particularly high pain tolerance?” The first smack came as a surprise. It hit just low enough on his left cheek to send a ripple of pain through his skin. A blooming pink patch quickly faded back to white.

“Much too soft for such a rude boy.”

“I imagined you’d hit harder, Doctor. I took slaps worse than that from ex-girlfriends.”

That earned him a stinger, much harder, sending him writhing upwards. A hard arm crossed his back and held him in place. 

“You are deplorable, Will. So very ungrateful. You play with your food,” a quick swat to the same spot as before made the tender flesh of his cheek bounce. “You insult me at my dinner table.” Another in quick succession leaving a pink mark. “Then you mention your ex-lovers in the bedroom.” He heard the whoosh from the wind up of the hit, tensing his muscles to brace for the third offence… but nothing came.

“I will set the pace, not you,” it happened. Short and sharp and a slight sting accompanied it. The patch where Hannibal had focused was now turning a light red. The crop lightly stroked the raised flesh, an unpleasant sensation of rough edges and seam meeting sore skin. It crossed to his other cheek and as quickly as it did, he received another strike. A painful one. Hannibal’s whole arm came back and struck with all the power he had. Will hissed and grasped at the fabric beneath him.

“I thought your pain tolerance was higher?” Hannibal’s voice hung in the air like music and Will could hear the smirk if not see it.

Another strike, and another, and another, until the fleshy underside of his buttocks was stinging dark pink. No more protests or bravado, he felt the heat starting to rise from his skin. He squirmed more as he tried to move further away. His instinct to run from the pain.

“No,” Hannibal took one arm and pinned it behind his back. A swift smack to his upper thigh, just below his left cheek ripped a cry from his throat. “I warned you, no moving.” Another strike, just as painful as before, on the back of his thighs. The dark pink began to turn an angry red as more hits rained down, barely seconds between them.

“Hannibal,” Will desperately tried to lurch forward.

“Stop moving.”

“No!” Will tried to yank his arm free and grasped at the ottoman with the other.

“You will,” a hard spank to the same fleshy spot at his thigh, now tense with the anticipation of a strike and red radiating down his skin. “Do as I tell you.” Again, they were coming hard and fast. Will’s legs spread, feet digging into anything for grip to push away but buckled each time by the pain of the crop.

“You’re mine, Will,” another smack. “Mine to do with what I please,” and another.

“You’ll thank me for every meal,” the feel of the crop hitting his raw flesh had tears of pain burning in his eyes. “You’ll eat your food,” the second slap drew another strangled moan. “And finally, you will never be rude to me.” The final blow sent the sound reverberating through the room, the flesh of the cheek red and jiggling. Hannibal placed the crop to his side and stroked the marks gently.

“Will you be a good boy, now?” he brought his lips to shell of Will’s ear. Will stopped struggling.

“Yes, I promise,” he whispered.

“Then, my darling, sit up,” the pressure at Will’s back lifted and he felt himself being helped up from the bed. He tried to sit back on his knees but felt the sting too strong. Hannibal’s hand came around to massage his sore behind, a large hand gently stroking at the pain. “You did very well for our first time.”

“You’re scary at that dinner table when you talk about being rude,” Will just wanted to take his mind off the sting. He felt a kiss on his shoulder.

“I enjoyed playing the role.”

“Playing the role, you believed every word you said. Especially about being rude,” Will shot his partner an accusing look and Hannibal smiled.

“I express my love through actions, and what then more loving than teaching a lesson?” Hannibal’s hand found its way to Will’s cock, still hard and hidden beneath black silk satin.

“I knew you were a secret Dominatrix. Ever since I heard you went to the opera and bought $100,000 suits. I bet Katz money on it.”

“Oh? How much?” Hannibal slid one hand to Will’s face and drew him close. They touched foreheads, starring into each other’s eyes.

“50 bucks,” and Will closed the gap. He arms went straight around Hannibal’s neck, pushing them both back onto the bed. It was all hot touches, wet lips parted and tongues slowly sweeping. Hannibal tasted of the raspberry glaze, sweet and fresh. When it broke, their pants broke the silence. Will was the first to move. His hands shot to Hannibal’s zip, desperate to have skin on skin contact. With clumsy fingers he pulled down black briefs and brought Hannibal’s cock, already hard with the excitement, into his hand.

“Will,” Hannibal’s breath was shaky. He watched as Will’s hand stroked his own bulge through the silk satin of his lingerie, a small damp patch of precum barely visible. Will pulled them down and brought their cocks together. They both let out a feral sound as his hand went to work, stroking up and down, his rough skin lending to the beautiful friction. The smell of nutmeg and orange was diluted, mixed with sex and sweat.

Will’s free hand stroked carefully at Hannibal’s sack, cupping and massaging as he kissed along his partner’s neck. The heat between them was almost unbearable. Hannibal’s hands travelled low, grasping at the raw flesh of Will’s arse. It still stung, but the angry red was now a pink blush.

“God, Hannibal. I want you.” Will continued his path of kisses, leading up Hannibal’s neck and finally back to his lips.

“Sit up,” the sudden command came as the kiss ended. Will followed the instructions and let Hannibal reach over into his night stand. In the first drawer there was brown glass bottle with a black lid.

“Is that lube?” Will asked. “Is that lube in a glass bottle?” he asked more exasperatedly.

“Indeed. Turn for me, my darling.”

Without spanking, Will did as he was told. It was unfamiliar territory for him, but he knew to bend and give Hannibal a show. He heard the bottle being unscrewed and a quick second of silence before the sensation of a cold finger at his entrance.

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable, we’ll go slow,” Hannibal’s voice, much more tender, came from over his shoulder.

“A little late to go easy on me,” Will smirked. He heard the small chuckle from behind and then felt a pressure he hadn’t before. That first minute, he wouldn’t call it pleasurable. It was an aching pain, a slow in and out rhythm of breathing through gritted teeth.

“Relax yourself, Will. I won’t hurt you,” again Hannibal sounded sincere, but Will still felt the burn of stretching muscle. It took a minute or so for him to acclimatise. He started his own rhythm of rocking his hips back and forth, taking the whole of the finger. Then there was two. It was an unwelcome stretch, burning again and slowing the pace of his hips. At some point the burn became good, tingling good and slow. He could feel that he wanted deeper. A third finger. He stopped rocking to breath through his nose and out through his mouth. Hannibal’s other hand came to rest on his back, slowly stroking for support.

“Now, Hannibal.”

“Are you sure?”

“Now!” Will looked back with a demanding glare. He wanted it, badly. All at once, Hannibal obliged. He felt the head of his penis push against his rim. The burn was worse. Hannibal’s cock was thick but average in length. He could feel the lube, applied so generously, slip down his cheeks and thighs. They were still for a second, and then Hannibal pushed in further. He couldn’t see but Will thought it about half way. It stayed that way, his body stretching and burning, until it ached more, and Hannibal pushed even further. He felt it as Hannibal’s entire length throbbed inside him.

“Are you ready, my Will?” Hannibal’s hand stroked his side lovingly.

“Yes.”

The first thrust was agony and bliss. The burn was still there, the stretch almost merciless when paired with the movement. After time, it faded – the pleasure and the pain mixing into one. Just like the spanking. Will felt sparks shoot up his spine, so newly aware of every sensation. The softness of the sheets, the sweat rolling down neck and, most erotically, the moans coming from Hannibal. Those low – pitched seldom heard treasures were hanging in the air like music. His own quick breathes accompanied them, together they made a private symphony that only they could ever share.

Will’s vision blurred. He was getting close. It had been so long since his last partner – too long. His body was over-excited, painful and marked, but eager for what was on offer. One thrust made his eyes snap shut. A wave of pleasure, lax muscles going taut, accompanied by a shiver. He felt Hannibal lean in, Will’s back to his chest, as the pace sped up. Each thrust hit deeper, stroking that special spot, sending more waves through Will’s body. Once, twice, three times more and he felt Hannibal cum.

The thrusts slowed but didn’t completely stop. A hand came around to stroke his cock.

“Let me help you finish,” it was whispered softly into the rim of Will’s ear. He knew it wouldn’t take much more but he put his hand on Hannibal’s to guide him. A short moan escaped his lips. It felt like complete surrender; spanked, fucked, jerked off. The skin of his back pressed to Hannibal’s chest was warm and his hand even more so. A few short strokes and he came, semen staining the sheets.

“You won’t bill me for dry-cleaning, will you?” Will smirked between pants.

“Not so long as you sleep here, from now on.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The store was brightly lit and organised the way Will supposed most up-market stores were. Great piles of foreign fruit, things one would other wise have to ask for at a specialty counter, were stacked in great wooden containers. Each piece had a more thorough vetting than Will himself. The pear that Hannibal was currently holding was from France, in the southern most regions, and its father had been a prize-winning county fruit in early 2018 before the great depression hit and he was forced into a mildly over spiced pie.

“I only wanted whiskey,” Will huffed, leaning against the trolley for support.

“There is whiskey here, and I needed to pick up a few things,” Hannibal rose from his place at the shelf and put an arm around Will. “Are you still sore, my darling? Would you like me to give you a massage when we get home?”

“My arse is still raw from you, in more ways than one.”

“That is why I’m offering a massage, or anything else you’d prefer.”

“Anything else?” Will peered at his partner over his glasses.

“Anything.”

“What if I said I’d feel better if you sucked me off?” he lowered his voice to a whisper, aware of a few patrons lingering around them.

“I would offer both services, happily,” Hannibal took hold of Will’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Suddenly, a brief chiming sounded from his right-hand pocket. “Terribly sorry, Will. I have a message.”

“Bet it’s Jack.”

Hannibal searched for his mobile for just a second and brought it up to eye level. Normally, Will would say on a day to day basis, Hannibal’s expression was hard to read. However, this time a distinct pattern of confusion then disgust flashed in his eyes.

“What is it? The Shrike? The copycat?” Will bent closer to get a look.

“No. Far worse, I’m afraid.”

On the screen were a series of texts from an unknown number, accompanied by faceless shots of a rather rotund man wearing what could only be described as cheap knickers. There were a few. A good amount were standing shots with no pose or composition. Two had props, one being what looked like a small paddle and the other a ball gag. Some were even posed on a bed, legs spread wide, showing quite nicely how the elastic was biting at flesh.

“So, that's why we didn’t go to Victoria’s Secret," 


	5. The man who panics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter focusing on Franklyn and how the last chapter came to pass

Franklyn fiddled with the biting elastic at the seam where his thigh met his torso. In the shop the underwear seemed like a good idea. Over the years he’d had a few girlfriends, sporadically during his time in high school and college. Mostly, the sex was lack lustre. He wouldn’t have said it was the defining factor behind their failure, but it certainly wasn’t their saving grace either. He remembered one girl, Molly, with big, round eyes and tight, pursed lips. She played in the high school orchestra as first bassoon. Even back then he preferred the artsy types. They French kissed once at the movies then three days later they broke up. Next, there was Gertrude. A blonde, German exchange student with a strong, square jaw and breath that stank like dark bread. In his youth he felt quite the cock about town because of Gertrude. There was a certain je ne sais quoi about European women that held him entranced.

Although, that didn’t last long either. He found some of her German habits to be at odds with his ideal of the European breed. She drank too much. Then she ate too much. Some might find it hypocritical of a man of Franklyn’s stature to complain about weight, but he was a slimmer man in those days. So, Gertrude was out, and Penelope was in. This was after his time at college that he found what he, at the time, considered to be his first inevitable soirée with the world of the extravagant. During his time in New York he first met Penelope at a symphony orchestra, she was alone and dressed in an opulent black dress that fell to the floor in waves. Her olive complexion gave away her Spanish heritage, another European, of set beautifully by cascades of black hair and piercing green eyes. He almost broke down at the sight of her, willing to serenade to this new Carmen in all her splendor. 

She entertained him, was the best way to put it. He never so much as held her hand in all the time he knew her. There would be moments, where she would speak of him as ‘her little pet’ or ‘her American man’ that made his heart flutter. She invited him to many events; charity galas, fashion shows and even a few high-end dinner parties. It was his first true taste of it. The way the other half truly lived. Back then, he thought it would never end, those indulgent nights of glittering lights and important names. He never slept with Penelope; he knew they never would from almost the moment they met. The first time he placed his hand on hers she recoiled, her lip curled in a sneer, eyes practically throwing daggers. 

It all came to a head when he found out her Father had cut her off 6 months prior, leaving her almost destitute with a lifestyle she couldn’t much afford. Not that it had stopped her. She flitted between one fool and then another, a prized jewel passed from one owner to the next. It was, in her own head, an honour to be seen stood beside her – especially, to those barely rich and uncouth bores she found to fund her. Franklyn knew that with himself Penelope had attempted for some refuge from her meaningless toys. He wasn’t as rich as her family, nor her friends, but his intellect made him a far better match. 

At the time, he was happy to pay for things and let her eyes wander to other men. He wanted Penelope more for what she represented than what she was; a link to the better world. She was a well-known beauty, and though each rejection of his advances pained him, it never stung like her rejection of his place in her world. One night, after a symphony for some cause or another, they met in her hotel room. As he went to open the door, the handle moved, and it swung open to reveal an older gentleman. He was taller than Franklyn, with a strong bird-like nose and round glasses. Grey stubble lined his square jaw, hiding his thin lips that sat in an almost unreadable expression. He was made up like a professor; salt and pepper hair pushed back with a small, black folder tucked under his arm.   
“A friend of yours?” his accent was thick as he looked back to Penelope. Franklyn pegged it for French. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes became apparent as he squinted, eyeing Franklyn with a certain criticism. The man took a step back, allowing him to pass, and revealed a minor limp. 

“Franklyn, I was not expecting you so soon after the performance. I told you I wouldn’t be joining you for drinks tonight. I’m tired.” She had already changed into a satin slip. 

“I thought a drink in your room might be more agreeable to a drink in the bar,” Franklyn walked in trying to ignore the man at the door. 

“You have company now, so I’ll beg your pardon and take my leave,” the man lifted a black cane from his side, bowed slightly and left. Franklyn took a good whiff of his cologne as he went; a dark, heavy musk that stayed with him through the years. It would be his example for all future colognes. 

“Who was he?”

“My new benefactor. He’s the owner of one of the galleries we visited. I’ve been after him for some while now, though he’s been abroad gathering a new collection,” he remembered how she held a glass full of wine in her hand, her back to him, looking out at the New York skyline. 

“Don’t you normally like them a little younger?”

“Money is more important than looks. If I really want a man, I’ll still do as I please. He’s paying to be by my side, not so I’m monogamous,” she placed her wine glass down and turned to face him. “So, I’m afraid this is the last time we meet.”

“What?” Franklyn had blinked at her in confusion. 

“Our purpose for being, our little connection, is finished. I don’t require anymore of your support. You are free to give it elsewhere.”

“I give you my support because you’re my friend.”

Then, she laughed. A cruel sort of cackle left her mouth as her head flung back, those black waves cascading down over her shoulders. She stopped, looking Franklyn up and down. 

“Friends? Acquaintances, my dear. My friends are too few to count and you are not amongst them.”

“Why?” he remembered how desperate he sounded, regretted how obvious he had been. 

“Money won’t buy you my friendship, Franklyn. It won’t even buy you my platitudes. If you want that, someone whose friendship you can buy, may I suggest you don’t hang around a crowd of millionaires? Hard to impress people with money when they could buy and sell you.”

“I wasn’t buying your friendship, haven’t I been supportive? Listened? Showed interest?”

“Oh Franklyn, a friendship is two people doing those things. You’ve listened to me, but I haven’t listened to half the things out of your mouth. Besides, we all know why you really listen to me. My influence is worth a King’s ransom for a man like you.”

There it was. Months of plans and evenings ruined, a social life torn apart in minutes. Of course, he continued to attend what events he could on his own. However, mingling with the crowd was harder than before. Open faces that glowed at Penelope’s presence stayed cold as they glanced Franklyn from afar. Even those he spoke to in the past, who knew him by name, were altogether uninterested. He received less invitations; by the end of the social session he found himself completely out of the loop. He noticed how everything was already addressed to ‘Penelope and Guest’. 

It was the distance that broke him the most. He didn’t miss the woman so much as he missed the lifestyle. Though the dismissal did send him to dangerous places. He took Penelope’s advice. His money may not impress millionaires, but it impressed strippers. In lower Queen’s there was a strip joint, The Cabana, where he found the next one. The last one before Hannibal. He frequented the spot for a few months, drowning himself in the loss of one lifestyle and aptly trying to replace it with cheap booze and easy company. 

It was a cold November night when he turned up to find himself surrounded by women, and not the sort on the stage. He blinked twice, wondering what he’d walked in on. The bouncer, a tall black man with a bald head and a dark coat just shot him a dirty look. 

“Ladies’ Night.”

Franklyn remembered sighing and resigning himself to the bar for one drink before the show started. He was two thirds into a whiskey when the lights on the stage lit up. What he saw would change him. A young man, barely twenty, tanned and blonde – wearing a gaudy cowboy’s outfit. His blue eyes sparkled in the stage lights. He’d never felt attracted to men before. At least, he’d never noticed, but this he couldn’t deny. He stayed the whole night, glued to the bar, trying not to attract attention. There were two other men, and both were with Hen parties. 

Of course, he stayed at the end. Ducking behind some dumpsters, he waited patiently for his favourite to exit through the back door. On stage they called him ‘Buffalo Bill’ but he knew better than to take that as real. It seemed like hours till anything happened. Finally, two of the dancers exited. His boy, accompanied by a shorter, brunette man, came out the door laughing. Franklyn introduced himself. They stood in silence for a second, drinking in his rushed explanation of who he was and why he was hiding in the dark. 

At first, it looked like they were going to call the bouncer, but the boy stopped his friend and told him to go on ahead. From there, it started slow. He learnt his real name was ‘Kevin’ and he went to college in New York. They spent time together; coffee and dinner dates, theatre trips and the like. Franklyn was almost sure that this time it was going to work. This time he was the one showing Kevin the world, though it wasn’t quite the same world he had shared with Penelope. As for the physical side, they kissed. Not often but it happened. He tried a few times to push it a little further. His hand fell to Kevin’s thigh or he invited him up to this bedroom. The idea of it never took. 

Again, it stung, just like it did with Penelope. Yet, that time felt different. More than ever he felt a physical connection to Kevin, a deep carnal desire for touch. It went unsatisfied their whole relationship. Eventually it ended when Kevin found himself someone new, someone his own age with no money or baggage. Franklyn wrote it off as nativity. A youth barely out of their teens couldn’t comprehend the life he’d turned down; the life Franklyn would have given him.   
It wasn’t until Hannibal that he understood what he was doing wrong. Franklyn couldn’t be the one giving; he wasn’t part of the glittering world. Therefore, all his attempts at domineering were doomed to disaster. He couldn’t satisfy a woman used to the better life and he couldn’t enlighten a boy too ignorant to see it. No, he needed someone to enlighten him. He needed someone willing and able to lift him up, to take care of him. So long he had been the one caring for others, attending to their whims and their fancies. 

Now, he wanted to be cared for. He wanted to be spoilt. To be adored as he adored others. He saw all of that happening with Hannibal. From the very first meeting he was besotted. The tall dark figure that opened the door on the first day of therapy was a God; sharp, darkly handsome with an angular face – carved cheekbones always a sign of ultimate beauty. His thin but pouty lips curled into a small, welcoming smile before he was beckoned inside. The office was almost as pristine as the man. Everything was decorated with such intimate precision, each item placed with pain-staking purpose. 

Franklyn had fantasized of the things they would do together. He imagined the dark intimacy he could share with a man like Hannibal Lecter. He saw the hot, sweeping touches. The art that could be made from their two bodies pressed together in a wild embrace. That’s why he was willing to go to such embarrassing lengths. Deep down, he knew that Hannibal would have certain desires, he hadn’t fooled himself into thinking the sex would be vanilla – in fact, he’d desperately imagine otherwise. So those words about lingerie, and seeing them both outside that sex shop, with the riding crop in Lecter’s hand, made him melt. He fantasised of all the things that could be done. All those lonely nights remedied by a skillful hand. Then he saw Will Graham; the man who stole his place. 

He knew if he sent the photos it would be risky. That’s why he bought a different phone from the one Hannibal had on record. Why he kept his face out of all the photos. It might take some time for the Doctor to come around to it all, so it was best to hedge his bets. He saw to memorizing their schedule, waiting patiently in the shadows to follow them. On Saturday’s they went shopping in Baltimore, picking up food essentials and other things they needed. He would follow them. The more he could pull Hannibal away from Will Graham, the better.   
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“My arse is still raw from you, in more ways than one.”

“That is why I’m offering a massage, or anything else you’d prefer.”

It made Franklyn sick to hear it. His worst fears were confirmed in two sentences. They had slept together, they were intimate and already so deeply intertwined. More so than he and Hannibal had ever been. A knot tied in his stomach as his fantasies were torn one by one, and where he should have stood, Will Graham took his place.

“Anything else?” he heard Will ask from his place in the aisle over. They were close enough to the end for him to overhear.

“Anything.”

“What if I said I’d feel better if you sucked me off?” Will lowered his voice to a whisper, aware of a few patrons lingering around them. Franklyn held his breath, waiting for the reply. He wanted Hannibal to retort him, to sound irate, disgusted at his vulgarity in public. 

“I would offer both services, happily,” Hannibal took hold of Will’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

Franklyn saw red. It was wrong, so wrong. His skin crawled at the thought of a man such as Hannibal Lecter, eager and willing beneath a man like Will Graham. He took out his phone and found the pictures he took the day before. Maybe it wasn’t $100 underwear, but it was lingerie non the less. He found what he thought was the best and clicked send, unable to regret behind the haze of red blurring his vision. A moment later he heard the ping of Hannibal’s phone in the next aisle. 

“Terribly sorry, Will. I have a message.”

“Bet it’s Jack.”

Franklyn smirked as he heard silence fall between the two. He was almost certain it meant Hannibal had opened his messages and was currently starring longingly at the screen. Now, Hannibal knew that he was willing to do just as much as Will to please him. 

“What is it? The Shrike? The copycat?” Will asked. Poor pathetic Will, his chances at keeping his sordid little affair alive were slipping from his hands with every second that Hannibal spent admiring Franklyn’s form. Maybe he wasn’t as trim as Will, but he was sure the lanky fisherman had little to offer himself. He seemed straight up and down; nothing to old onto. 

“No. Far worse, I’m afraid.”

The words cut him like a knife. 

“So, that's why we didn’t go to Victoria’s Secret."

He clutched his chest, feeling his heart pound wildly. He’d done a stupid thing in anger. He meant to save the pictures till a later date, till he wooed the Doctor more and they were on more equal footing. Now, he looked like a desperate pervert. 

“Indeed. I must wonder how he acquired my personal number,” Hannibal’s voice was quieter than before. 

“The same way he found my address? Snooping around Freddie’s site and trawling the internet. What’ll you do about it?”

“He is… relatively harmless. I will refer him to another psychiatrist and hopefully his obsession with me will fade,” Hannibal calmly put his phone away, careful not to reveal the true extent of his plans. If he revealed to anyone else the length to which Franklyn’s stalking had reached, he might end up a suspect if and when Franklyn went missing. 

“And if it doesn’t?” Will asked. “If I wake up in the middle of the night with the ‘cheese man’ baring down on me with a knife and a manic smile?”

“Then you will have been killed by the worst killer in history, with the worst name in history, and after surviving so many other killers, everyone will laugh at you for being killed by the cheese man,” Hannibal moved on down the aisle, not even glancing back to look at his dumb founded partner. 

“Was that a joke? Hannibal Lecter, did you just tell a shitty cheese man joke?”

“Will, language. We are in public,” but a small smile spread across his lips. 

Franklyn couldn’t hear the rest, they moved too far down the aisle. In his head, he thought about sneaking into Will’s house at night. Maybe not killing him, maybe just scaring him. A dead dog might put him off interfering with his relationships. He walked calmly to the end of the aisle so as not to arouse suspicion and poked his head around a corner to observe more closely. What he saw made his blood boil. They were stood by the fruit, Will clearly resting his head against Hannibal’s shoulder and holding his hand. 

“So, you want me to move in with you?” Will’s voice was low, but Franklyn could still hear it. 

“Yes. The dogs are of course welcome as well. There is a small section of land behind the house I have been bartering for over the last month. I’m sure it will fall in my favour.”

“You and seven dogs?” Will looked up longingly at Hannibal.

“They are important to you, so they are important to me,” Hannibal held Will’s gaze. Slowly, they brought their heads together and kissed. It was only a quick one, chaste and lasting only seconds. As they pulled apart, Hannibal’s hand went to Will’s waist. “I’m thinking about building a new extension to the house. It will make a good place for dogs whilst keeping my living room fur free.”

“You’d build an entire section of house, just for my dogs?”

“We’d extend upstairs, as well. I wouldn’t want you to give up your hobbies.” 

Will squeezed Hannibal’s hand, nuzzling slightly into the warmth of his partner’s shoulder. 

“Am I moving into your bedroom?”

“Of course, you may try to sleep in the guest room but I’m afraid I couldn’t promise to stay away from you for long,” Hannibal kissed Will’s head, planting his lips softly in amongst tufts of brown curls. Franklyn seethed at the audacity. They hardly knew one another. It couldn’t have been more than 4 months and they were already talking of moving in together. Not only that, but Will taking his dingy, low brow life and placing himself right in the centre of Hannibal’s world. 

“Okay, moving in sounds nice. God knows I’d never turn down your cooking or your company. I’m imagining you in the morning, 7am and already in a three-piece suit. Me, stumbling downstairs in boxers and a t-shirt, looking for snack cakes,” Will’s laugh was slow and languid. 

“I assure you, I’m not usually in my suit until 8 and I have no objections to your boxers. You may walk around in whatever underwear you wish.”

“Is that a hint to tell me you wouldn’t mind me walking around in that G-string?”

“I said whatever you wish,” Hannibal smiled and gestured for Will to move down the aisle. Franklyn continued to follow at a distance. He needed to know more about their plans and how he could interrupt them. 

“Would you prefer beef or pork tonight, Will?” Hannibal lifted two different brands of crème fraiche for closer inspection. 

“You could cook road kill and I’d eat it.”

“Strangely flattering,” Hannibal cocked an eyebrow. “But also, not what I asked.”

“Pork. And that fancy thing you do for dessert. The one you made the first night I stayed over.”

“Raspberry and vanilla mille-feuille. I’ll need to double back and pick up some vanilla pod,” Hannibal smiled and dropped one pot of crème fraiche down into the cart before planting another kiss to Will’s forehead. 

“People are going to think we’re newly-weds the way you keep kissing me,” Will lent down against the handle of the cart. 

“Well, we are moving in together. Would you be so surprised if I proposed?” Hannibal stopped shopping and lent against the end of the cart, locking eyes with Will. Franklyn, eagerly listening from the other side of the aisle, held his breath. Things were moving far too fast. He’d only just sent the pictures, hadn’t they sated Hannibal’s lust in any way? Why was he talking of marrying someone he was so obviously only interested in for the sex?

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Hell, I’ve almost been expecting it,” Will stood straight. “I know how you like to claim ownership.”

Hannibal smiled in return. “That I do, and I’ll admit I have looked at rings.”

Franklyn felt angry tears well up in his eyes. How long had their courtship been? How had their relationship grown in so short a time when he swore, he knew Hannibal for at least a month before Will? What excuses did Will have to talk to Hannibal outside of hours? How did he make those excuses seem so much more valid than his own?

“Knowing you, you’d want to get married abroad.”

“Lecter castle is beautiful when the gardens are planted but I’m afraid Lithuania wouldn’t wholly recognize our union. Though a service in my ancestral grounds would be nice. The real wedding could be Florence or southern France. I’m sure money will be no problem,” Hannibal listed his venues diligently, thinking it over whilst inspecting a bottle of wine. 

“So, you’ve not only thought of it, but planned it too,” Will folded his arms and sighed. 

At the mention of Lecter castle, Franklyn blushed. A fantasy he held dear to his heart was one of being taken to Hannibal’s childhood home and openly presented as a part of the Lecter family. 

“I am a man who knows what he likes, and when I like something, I commit,” Hannibal placed the wine in the cart. 

“There isn’t a ring on this finger yet.”

“Yet being the operative part of that sentence.”

Franklyn swallowed a dry lump in his throat. Now, he needed to up his game.


	6. The man in the shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little bit divergent to the show, Franklyn meets Hannibal and Will at the Opera.
> 
> Also, you may notice Sue Weinstein is modeled after Sylvia Weinstock, the Queen of cakes in New York. I saw her on 'Nailed it' where she went around and like, nicked a fancy pan and said 'if you're gonna steal, steal big.' So, I love her and her big ass glasses.

Will woke with Hannibal’s arms curled around him tightly. It felt safe; pressed soundly against Hannibal’s firm chest, feeling it fall and rise. The lonely ache was fading day by day, but something remained. An undeniable knot in his stomach that wouldn’t ease. There were still unknown parts of their relationship, things that hid in the dark. Will felt it in his bones. There still existed a veil between the worlds; mundane and ethereal still separated. It was thinner than before. Everything that separated them now felt more like a sheer curtain, and Will could see Hannibal, his outline obscuring the dim light from the other side. More than anything, he wanted the veil to lift, to feel the thrill of nothing between them. Though, some part of him hesitated. What would he find?

Hannibal shifted on the bed and let his hand push Will’s shirt up, revealing his soft middle. He used one finger to trail patterns on the sensitive skin.  
“Well, good morning,” Will lifted his hand to meet Hannibal’s.

“Good morning. How did you sleep?”

“Better than normal,” Will turned and intertwined their legs. Facing each other, he could see the dark mass of Hannibal’s eyes. There he saw adoration and apprehension. Something was hiding in their depth. 

“I’m glad. Do you want breakfast?”

“What’s on offer?”

“Protein scramble. Our first meal together,” Hannibal placed a gentle kiss on Will’s shoulder. Then, he rose from his place on the bed and reached for his robe. Their shared mornings followed an exact routine. Hannibal usually woke first, went downstairs to cook breakfast and arrange his papers for the day. Will would follow maybe half an hour later with a desperate need for coffee and eggs. 

“Never took you for the romantic type,” Will lifted himself from the covers. 

“Is that a hint for me to try harder?”

“You make coffee every morning, that’s romantic enough for me.”

He followed Hannibal downstairs, still wearing his boxers and a plain white t-shirt. Outside the sky was just turning a pale blue with the sun glimpsing the horizon. The kitchen was bathed in a low, iridescent light shifting through the blinds, a few beams skimming the counters and glinting off the marble worktops.  
“Are you still prepared to join me at the opera tonight?” Hannibal fetched a pan from one cupboard and a cafetière from another.

“Oh, I almost forgot about that,” Will brought his hand up to rub his tired eyes as he sat at the kitchen island.

“You don’t have to come if you prefer.”

“I promised. I’m a hermit but I can’t always be an asshole,” he rocked back in his seat, eyes looking everywhere but Hannibal. 

“I’ve attended many on my own before. One more won’t kill me,” Hannibal went to the fridge and brought out a pack of sausages. 

“I’m coming. Don’t talk me out of it. Are those homemade sausages?”

“Of course.”

Will watched as Hannibal brought the sausages to the chopping board. He moved so gracefully with the knife, the tendons in his hand pushed against the tautness of his skin. Hannibal always concentrated diligently when cooking. Often there was nothing that could distract him from his creation. Will decided long ago that it was an artistry the way Hannibal used a knife to create. He kept watching. Each cut into cold flesh sent him further and further back into the world behind his eyes. He felt the forest descending. 

He saw the Chesapeake Ripper, his back turned to Will as a new victim lay at his feet. A surgical precision punctuated each movement, each clean slice of the knife showing strained tendons and taut skin. Familiar skin – skin he knew well and felt on his own. 

“Will?” he was brought back from his imaginings by Hannibal’s hand wrapped around his own. “You weren’t here.”

Will blinked back to the reality of the kitchen. Hannibal laid the plate with protein scramble in front of him and he wondered how long he was gone. 

“Were you at a crime scene?”

“No,” Will let the words fall coldly between them. Hannibal lifted one eyebrow as he looked over his partners face, seeing the distance in his eyes. 

“You have had an idea?”

“An epiphany.”

“Do tell,” Hannibal picked up his fork and began to eat. Will looked deeply into his eyes, looking for a trace of surprise. 

“It’s art.”

“Art is subjective. Are you saying you have the same taste as the ripper?” he brought the fork to his mouth and took a bite, tearing cooked flesh with his teeth. 

“I feel he’s closer to me than I first thought.”  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that night at the opera, Will could feel the forest bleeding through the corners of his reality. He stood at Hannibal’s side, holding tightly to his arm as they entertained a small group. 

“Dr. Lecter, you never told us your handsome young man would be joining us this evening,” one woman in a stunning azure gown smiled. Will understood her name was Diane Dormant, a wealthy heiress with a love for European wine.

“Where have you been hiding him?” another much older woman with thick rimmed glasses and a dense fur coat asked. Sue Weinstein, a noted Queen of Cakes native to New York. Hannibal spoke of her often, praising her deft icing work in the kitchen. 

“He’s not been hiding me at all,” Will felt his mouth move but he heard someone else’s voice. “I’m just a little out of place at these things.” He sounded younger, more innocent and ready to accept a night of social interaction. 

“He’s a modest boy. You would have seen him far more if I’d had my way.” 

“Well, you must join us more regularly now you’re out,” Diane waved her hand for a waiter. “We’ve all been dying to know who had caught the good Doctor’s eye.”

“Oh, he’s mentioned me?” Will turned to look at Hannibal, who kept his gaze forward and a small smile on his lips. 

“Of course, he hasn’t stopped talking of the beautiful agent that caught his eye. Practically smitten,” she picked up a new champagne flute and dismissed the waiter. 

“I’ve spoken of you a few times.”

“Beautiful agent? Now I feel like I won’t live up to the hype. Hannibal, you’ve set them up for disappointment,” Will let one hand slowly smooth Hannibal’s lapel whilst the other unlinked from his elbow and instead snaked around his waist. 

“Not at all, I was unable to do you justice with words alone,” Hannibal brought their heads closer and placed a small kiss to Will’s forehead. 

“Goodness, the love birds have arrived,” Sue clapped her hands together and smiled giddily. 

“You must excuse me, sometimes I forget myself when Will is at my side.”

“He forgets himself more than he likes to admit. Did I tell you about the time my dogs knocked him clean off his feet?” 

“Hannibal and dogs?” Sue giggled. 

“Oh yes, he’s a real dog person now.”

“They certainly are part of the family,” Hannibal lifted his drink to his lips but stopped as an all to familiar feeling crept down his spine. He was being watched. He turned slightly to the left and caught the direct gaze of a familiar patient, nervously looking away to avoid eye contact then glancing back to smile. 

“What is it?” Will noticed Hannibal’s shoulders drop and a short sigh escape his lips. 

“Our…little shadow has returned.”

Will turned to see Franklyn, dressed in a well fitted tux, giving him a death glare. He was altogether more groomed than he normally was, his black curls slicked back, and his beard neatly trimmed. At his side there was a cane. The handle was curved and golden, whilst the wood was painted in a black lacquer. 

“Did something happen to his leg?” 

“You’d think, but I have the strangest feeling he’s fine,” Hannibal looked intently as Franklyn’s legs, looking for any sign of injury. To his chagrin, it was taken as an invitation for company. Franklyn strode with a slight limp and a wide smile on his face. 

“Dr Lecter… Mr Graham.” 

“Mr Froideveaux,” Hannibal smiled. Will remained silent, preferring quiet indignation. 

“A friend of yours?” Diane asked.

“There should be some mystery to my life outside the opera,” Hannibal smiled, baring his teeth ever so slightly and turning to face Franklyn.

“I’m one of his patients.”

“Smooth,” Will whispered just loud enough for Hannibal to hear. 

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that you spoke with your patients outside of office hours,” Sue chimed back in, pushing her glasses to the rim of her nose for closer inspection. 

“Not usually, but Franklyn and I do seem to run into one another quite a bit.”

“He does make certain exceptions,” Franklyn’s glare fell on Will, and more particularly the arm that was still wrapped around Hannibal’s waist.

“Well, Baltimore can be small in the right circles,” Diane sipped her drink through an uninterested gaze. 

“Yes, we do often find ourselves in the same circles,” Franklyn smiled. 

“Yeah, that happens when you stalk someone,” Will turned his face into Hannibal’s shoulder so he wouldn’t be heard. Still, he was sure Hannibal picked up on it and Franklyn’s smile faded for just a second before regaining its previous composure. 

“The music this evening was… marrant. Emotional,” Franklyn paused a moment and looked around the room. The small group lay silent in the wake of his words. Sue glanced to Diane, eyes laced with apprehension and a hint of amusement. 

“Marrant? My, sir, are you French in any way? I do love a man from Europe in this drab new world,” Diane smiled. 

“Oui, belle dame, je parle assez bien.”

Will felt his muscles tighten at the sound of his accent. His own French had much to be desired; Louisiana French on its best days would be lorded as crude by a crowd like this, as it was a mix of two languages. However, he could still remember enough of that and his school lessons to know Franklyn’s pronunciation was awful. He felt Hannibal tense at the experience. 

“Aha,” Diane let out a curt laugh. “Indeed!”

“You’re not assaulting people with your French, are you Franklyn?” another voice joined the crowd. It belonged to a man with dark skin, a short, flat nose and wide set eyes. He walked with a confident gait, coming to a stop next to Franklyn. 

“Tobias, let me introduce you to Doctor Lecter, my psychiatrist.”

“Ah, that’s why he was more interested in you than the show.”

“Tobias!” Franklyn urged but kept his nervous smile. “Doctor Lecter and I talk outside of sessions.”

“Yes, apparently circles in Baltimore are small,” Will gave Diane a small glance who repaid him with a smirk. 

“How rude, I have not introduced everyone. Tobias, this is Ms Diane Dormant in the stunning azure gown. To your left, Mrs Sue Weinstein, one of the greatest bakers this world has to offer,” Hannibal gestured to them both as Tobias outstretched a hand to introduce himself. “And this, quiet victim of my whims, is Will Graham. My partner.”

Tobias held out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Will gave in and shook it. “Likewise.”

“So many new meetings, this evening. Weren’t we only just gushing over meeting Will?” Diane smiled and looked to Sue for support. 

“Yes, we’re as familiar with Will as these two. Tell us more about yourself, dear,” Sue gestured forward with one glittering hand. 

“I’m just a teacher.” 

“He works as a lecturer for the university. By day, an educator - by night, a criminal profiler,” Hannibal grinned as his slid his arm around Will’s waist. 

“You make me sound like a superhero.”

“Oh, a man of intrigue. Tell me, have you ever come face to face with one of them? A real serial killer?” Sue gnashed her teeth and pulled a strained, gruesome face.

“Don’t be so morbid!” Diane pursed her ruby lips. “You’ll give me nightmares!”

“Yes, didn’t you shoot a man?” Franklyn’s voice cut across the group like a knife. The smile on his face was wide and stretched the taut skin under his beard. It was an almost perfect set up. The night before, he read everything and anything he could get his hands on about Will’s dark career. He read it all. He watched as Will’s eyes widened in shock at the comment and how he shifted back slightly, using Hannibal’s large form as a type of shield. Franklyn felt a small victory, though he could see how Hannibal puffed out his chest, glaring him down. 

“No! Really?” Sue’s excited voice broke the silence. “You got one? Hannibal, you didn’t tell us your sweet little man hunted serial killers. Let alone got one.”

Hannibal let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “Yes, he apprehended and brought to justice a man who was killing young women.”

“A drink to our Will,” Diane raised her glass and was joined by all bar Franklyn. His lips were slightly pouted, and he fought the urge to stomp his foot like a dejected child. His plan was foiled by a geriatric baker. 

“That must have been quite the experience,” Tobias smiled at Will and it stabbed at Franklyn’s heart. 

“It was certainly something,” Will squeezed Hannibal’s hand for comfort. 

“What was it like?”

“Pardon?”

“What was it like… having to kill another person?” Tobias smiled at Will, inching forward with anticipation. The air was stifling, between the question and the attention, everything came closer. Even Hannibal stopped still, his eyes transfixed on Will. 

“Well,” he started. “I suppose it’s haunting… oddly thrilling. I never expected to have to do it, but I certainly don’t regret it.” 

“Would you do it again?” 

Will thought a moment before answering. “Yes… I think I would.” 

Silence sat with them a moment again, the heaviness of his answer left to hang in the air like a dead thing. He noticed Hannibal’s grip on him strengthen, his muscles tense and his skin almost hot to the touch as his hand brushed Will’s. 

“Brilliant!” Sue cried with a few small claps. “We do love a man of action here in America. You must come with me to the range sometime, Will. I’m old but I’m still sharp.”

“Didn’t your last range partner stop going because you almost shot him?” Diane gave her a suspicious look. 

“Nonsense. Jasper had bad knees.”

The group erupted into a small roar of laughter, even Will let himself follow their example. Everyone except Franklyn found the whole thing entertaining. 

“A shooting range? A little out of our tastes, eh Tobias? We’re more interested in the arts,” he inwardly chided himself for bringing up something which made Will more popular. Worse, something that earned Will more invitations. 

“I won’t lie, I am more inclined to music. The Chordophone String Shop is my sphere of influence,” Tobias produced his business card and spread it amongst the group. 

“Yes, we like to attend any music events we can.”

“Though this is the first we’ve actually made our way to,” Tobias threw Franklyn a tired look. 

“I can understand such patience. I have waited a long time to show off my dear Will at the right event,” Hannibal made a show of bringing Will’s hand to his lips and kissing it gently. Will lifted an eyebrow at the gesture and then let his hand rest on his partners lapel. Franklyn suddenly began to rock from one leg to the next, as though itching to launch forward. 

“We always knew you were a romantic at heart, Hannibal,” Diane smiled at the pair over her glass. 

“I wish someone would have told me,” Will laughed. 

He looked to his right and watched Franklyn intently. The man seemed unsure as to whether he wanted to be closer to Hannibal or Tobias. He swayed, undecided, looking between the two men with anticipation. 

“Well, I must insist that if you get married,” Sue let her glasses slip down her nose and gave the couple a wink. “You let me do the cake.”

Will felt the blush run over his cheeks and threaten to reach his ears. He squeezed Hannibal’s hand tightly and felt it returned. Franklyn was almost the same shade, but his eyes were transfixed on Sue, as though starring at her long enough would cause her to melt into the floor. 

“Well, we have spoken of a service in Lecter Castle. Though, Will rightly suspected I would want to consider Florence or France.”

“Oh, Florence is beautiful in the early spring. You must!” Diane gestured for another waited. 

“I have thought of as much, but of course it depends on what Will would like.”

“A little ahead of ourselves,” Will blushed. “We’re not engaged.”

“Yet,” Hannibal hastily added. “Though I am a determined man.”

Tobias took everything in with a polite nod, his features betraying neither excitement nor shock at the news. Franklyn, however, was almost shaking. His eyes remained unblinking for a concerning stint. 

“You’ve only known each other a few months,” he let the words slip from his mouth in a matter of fact tone. 

“That we have,” Hannibal smiled. “And yet, these have been the happiest months of my life.” He took to starring intently into Will’s eyes, enjoying the dusky pink that spread across sensitive skin. Franklyn pulled his hands into fists. 

“Would a psychiatrist not say it’s unwise?”

“Perhaps a psychiatrist not quite so in love as myself. I’m afraid Will has changed me, somewhat,” and at those words Will looked deep into Hannibal’s eyes. He saw the Ripper; saw the black outline finally take a defined shape and form. He outstretched one arm clothed in a black tartan suit. From the shadows of the forest, Hannibal finally emerged. Ready to be seen. Will gripped suddenly at Hannibal’s arm, still holding eye contact and rooted to the spot. 

“Seems unethical as Will here was your patient,” Franklyn’s voice barely breached their world. 

“Will was never my patient. Our sessions were so I could help him consult on certain cases,” Hannibal didn’t break eye contact with Will. They were in a place of their own making. A deep forest. His hand still outstretched, waiting. 

“And you are so unlike one another,” Franklyn kept going. 

“We are perfectly alike. I would dare say we may be soulmates.”

“A man like you believes in soulmates?”

“I believe that Will and I have such a bond, that separation will never be an option.”

There were a few more questions but Will couldn’t hear them. He could only see Hannibal, for everything that he was, in the exposing light of a pale moon. Blood ran down his lip. A corpse, dutifully gutted and displayed laid in wait just out of sight. They were both waiting; waiting for Will’s decision. 

“It’s ridiculous, practically stupid. Tell me how are you soul mates? Just how? It’s not right. It’s almost unthinkable.”

“Franklyn, you’re being rude,” Tobias interrupted. 

“No! I’m being honest. What do they have in common? It’s so sudden, they’d never last. What makes them soul mates? What…”

“Taste,” Will’s voice cut across his ranting. “We have the same taste.” In the forest, beyond the constraints of anything the party could fathom, he took Hannibal’s hand and crossed a threshold. Standing next to him, Hannibal let a small, fond smile grace his lips. 

“Taste?”

“Yes, Hannibal and I may even hunt together one day. I think we’d enjoy chasing…” Will eyed Franklyn and licked his lips. “the same sort of game.”

Hannibal’s eyes fluttered closed at the idea, imagining the forest and the monster running at his side.


	7. 2 men desperately in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Franklyn is desperate for Hannibal. Hannibal is desperate for Will. There's a proposal that keeps getting ruined and a serial killer edging ever closer to just saying 'fuck it'.
> 
> Trigger Warning: There is like a two line mention of suicide in this chapter. It's tiny. Franklyn is saying stuff in a panic. There is no actual suicide but I thought I best warn everybody just in case.

Hannibal rubbed his temples. In the last week alone there had been two failed attempts at a proposal, and it was all because of Franklyn. An image of the man, gutted and broken - limbs rearranged into a mockery of some obscure Botticelli - ran through his mind. He shook his head. For one, Franklyn didn't deserve a beautiful arrangement. Hannibal had no desire to play into the man's dense fantasy of being part of the 'artistic world'. Secondly, it would be far too risky. Without doubt, either himself or Will would be top tier suspects in a disappearance. Nothing more suspicious than the man who thwarted two of your proposals going missing. 

He sighed as he looked down at his wrist for the time. So much effort was wasted on those first attempts. The restaurant with the garden in the moonlight was by far his favourite. He paid staff to reserve the whole of the outside area; they arranged blooming white roses and lily of the valley alongside the boundaries of the patio, letting a timeless scent mix with the richness of dessert. Even the timing was perfect, with a full moon hung pale in the sky. Each fine detail planned so meticulously. The waiter came out on cue, two glasses of the finest champagne on offer with one hiding a ring. It was a little cliche he knew. However, Will expressed a fondness for his romantic whims in the past and he wanted more than anything to see Will blush. 

Of course, as though the great God's themselves conspired against him, a familiar voice cut through their evening just as Will was to take his first sip. Franklyn, wide eyed and panting where he dodged a waiter in hot pursuit, bared down on them. Said waiter followed close behind, apologizing profusely about how the man gave some excuse about leaving his coat and then almost tackled a manager to get to the patio. Hannibal felt himself tense. As Will was distracted, he swapped their glasses and hid the ring. He would not have his proposal marred by such dim company. The proposal had to be right. Eventually, Franklyn was forcefully removed from the restaurant by the manager he tackled. Then, they offered Hannibal his meal free of charge for the disturbance caused on what the staff knew was supposed to be a big night. He couldn't bring himself to blame them. How could they have anticipated what most likely came across as a jilted ex-lover? Hannibal shuddered at the thought.

His main concern now was to find out how exactly Franklyn knew where they were. He was no longer under the pretense that it was coincidence, not that it ever had been. Once could be bad luck, twice was someone messing with him. The second proposal was almost as meticulous as the last. He adopted a small black Pomeranian about two weeks beforehand. He planned this option out of good foresight, feeling there was something at work against him, whoever and whatever it was. There was a dog park that Will would frequent with his pack when not on his own land. Hannibal knew the route well. One afternoon he invited himself along, adamant that today was the day. In the woods along the route, an acquaintance was on stand by with the small dog perched between their legs. She was trained to respond to a whistle. On her collar, a short note; 'Marry me'. Had the first proposal gone well she would have been an early wedding gift. 

They walked, the afternoon sun skimming the trees and casting long shadows in the field. All the dogs scattered, rolling, jumping, pouncing on one another like a fond family. The time was right. He turned to Will and explained he had a surprise. He whistled and out from the trees ran the little ball of black fur, almost tripping over her own little legs in excitement. The look on Will's face as she approached; eyes wide and glittering in the fading light, mouth slightly ajar as she ran closer. Hannibal could feel his heart in his chest. Then, the familiar voice. Hannibal didn't need to turn to know who it belonged to. Every muscle in his body clenched. Will picked the dog up as she ran to his arms but to Hannibal's relief, was too distracted by Franklyn to notice the collar. With Will's head turned he swiftly removed it to his pocket. 

"What a coincidence," Will's voice betrayed his disbelief. 

"Quite. Same circles and all," Franklyn was smirking, they could both see it. "Such a lovely dog! Yours?"

"I think so," Will looked to Hannibal for confirmation, an innocent, longing smile on his face. He looked like a child begging to keep his new found playmate. 

"Of course, she's for you."

"What's her name?" Franklyn outstretched a hand to stroke her but pulled back as she snapped at it. 

"Her name is for Will to decide."

"Let's see," Will held her up, stroking her soft ears as she panted happily. "Cute little thing, aren't ya? What about Persephone? Effie for short."

Hannibal never adored Will more than when he caught him caring for his animals. His hands were always so careful with their fragile bodies, so very attentive to their every need. The conversation didn't last long. Franklyn excused himself to look for his own dog though Hannibal did notice he made a comment about the dog needing a collar. It was too suspicious. He knew far too much about how to be in the right place at the right time. Sat in his office with the low sun casting long shadows, he resembled a foreboding miser struggling with own thoughts. Franklyn wasn't clever enough to break into his house. So, cameras and microphones were out. He searched his office high and low for anything incriminating, but scolded himself for thinking his patient would ever of had the time. He never left Franklyn alone in the office. He never had a reason to. Not to mention he never spoke out loud about his plans. That left good old fashioned stalking. 

Franklyn may not be clever but he was nothing if not persistent. Hannibal made a mental note to watch for reappearing cars or number plates. He was surprised he hadn't noticed before, but with his upcoming nuptials in mind he supposed he might have let somethings slip. Also, he never thought of Franklyn as a threat. He still wasn't. It was more an annoyance, bordering on a regret. Looking for a referral was difficult mostly because Hannibal did not hate any of his colleagues enough to subject them to Franklyn's particular brand of neurosis. Even then, he would have to explain Franklyn's obsession with him just in case it swapped to his new psychiatrist. He wouldn't explain that's what he was hoping for. Though, even explaining the obsession itself put him in the line of fire if Franklyn went missing, but he was sure Franklyn would mention him in therapy. In their own sessions he mentioned previous psychiatrists. The one before Hannibal had a similar experience; an off hand mention of a charity gala sent Franklyn desperately reeling into their life at unexpected junctures. When he took Franklyn on he therefore anticipated some 'chance encounters'. However, before this, he never seemed sexually involved with his psychiatrists. Hannibal tapped a pencil gently against his desk. It was just his luck that he was the first. 

It made him wonder what the trigger was. There was something that he possessed that the others hadn't and he mused that it might be the killing instinct. Then he stopped. It made sense the more he entertained it. Franklyn had all the traits of someone prone to being obsessed with psychopaths. Though Hannibal realized he didn't fit the exact profile of a psychopath, he knew any Doctor worth their salt would say he had traits. Those people most susceptible to such relationships were often more well put together than Franklyn. The picture of a swooning fan of gore was a misdirect. Psychopaths needed relationships that could fuel their lifestyle, whether with money, fame or connections. The hardier a partner, the longer they would last before becoming broken beyond repair. However, Franklyn was a man of certain means and Hannibal could imagine he wouldn't ask many questions. So long as he was close to what he deemed 'the glittering world', there was all manner of depravity he may expose himself to. Maybe even delight in it until his pet psychopath pushed a little too far.

The trigger then. Hannibal imagined himself in front of a tall mirror, reflecting the image that he let the world see. His human suit was perfectly aligned, snug - almost chaffing. To the public eye he was polite, courteous and a great lover of the arts. He found much needed structure in the cold distance of high society. Rich people had little fondness for over familiarity and it suited his needs well; a sterile friendship denoted by airs and graces left plentiful room for privacy. His status left nothing to be desired. When he wanted a large pool of victims with so little attachment to himself he need only attend an event. When he needed an audience for a feast so many were willing. He exuded a power his family name promised. In the mirror, all was tailored to perfection. There was not a seam out of place. So what, what drew Franklyn in a way nothing had before?

"Doctor Lecter," the voice cut across his thoughts, shattering the mirror in his mind and leaving it in jagged pieces at his feet. Hannibal turned to his doorway to find Franklyn, the devil himself, stood. He resumed his choices from their previous meeting, wearing a plaid shirt hidden under a dark yellow sweater paired with a grey jacket. Hannibal recognized the look.

"Mr Froideveaux."

"Please, call me Franklyn."

"Franklyn, you are no longer a patient at this practice. May I ask what you are doing here?" Hannibal kept his voice low. 

"I think we need to talk."

"Yes, you're right. For once, we have quite a lot to discuss don't we?" 

"I'm glad you think so too. I'd like to start by asking you about Will."

Hannibal blinked. "What about Will?"

"Just what you're doing with him," Franklyn took his usual seat in the armchair and draped his jacket along the back. His face was still, eyes calmly looking to Hannibal for an answer. 

"Clarify what you mean by 'what I'm doing with him'."

"I mean why are you with him?" Franklyn betrayed his anxiety by crossing and un-crossing his legs, first preferring them one way then the next. Eventually settling on both feet firmly planted on the ground. He brought himself forward as he asked the question. 

"Not that my personal life is any of your business," Hannibal rose to replace a book in one of his shelves. "But I love Will dearly. Though I suspect you are about to air an objection to that, as it's not the first time I've told you."

"You're right, I do have an objection."

"And what might that be?"

"There's nothing he can offer you."

"I see," Hannibal casually looked over his shoulder. Franklyn was gripping the arms of the chair as he shuffled closer to the edge. "And you see my love as a contract of sorts? I only love when it is beneficial to myself?"

"Maybe, not exactly..." Franklyn stumbled over the words. "I don't intend to know all the ins and outs of your love."

"You make me sound like a psychopath. My affection for any influence."

"It's not an insult. It's rightly so, everyone gets a little something more out of their partners. We don't choose blindly, whether it's looks or money or a name."

Hannibal raised one eyebrow. "That is perhaps the most astute thing you've ever said in my presence."

Franklyn practically glowed with the compliment. "It's because I understand the way our world works. The prince doesn't marry the pauper, so to speak. That's why I have to know. What is it about Will Graham that has you so dedicated. There is nothing to offer."

Hannibal turned his back on Franklyn, eager to contain the small smirk taking over his face. He remembered back to the forest, the one of his and Wills' design - where the darkness interlaced with the pale moonlight, and the veil lifted. He thought of the warm feel of Will's hand. The comment of hunting together. His eyes fluttered closed again and felt the thrill of the hunt, a beautiful new predator hunched in the dark next to him. 

"Hannibal?"

"Doctor Lecter, please," Hannibal opened his eyes and turned to face his guest. "Will has something on offer that no one else in this world could give me."

"What?" Franklyn dug his nails into the fine fabric, biting his lip as he clung to the edge of his seat. 

"Understanding," Hannibal took the seat opposite. "He see's me."

"I see you too! And I could offer you so much more."

"Franklyn, perhaps this is a moot point in the stage we've reached, but are you infatuated with me?"

"I love you!" the exclamation rang around the room. "I see you for what you are, perfect! I know we could be good together because we love so many of the same things. We're in the same circles. We value the same things; politeness, artistry, food," he listed each one on his hands. 

"I see, so we've found the tagline for my tombstone. Politeness, artistry, food," Hannibal let a low chuckle escape his lips as he opened the notebook that was left on the side table. He took up the pen and began scribbling. 

"See, and a dark sense of humor. I love it!"

"Exactly, you love it not me."

"I don't understand you," Franklyn's laugh faded into a twist of confusion, one eye squinting. 

"You do not know much about me, Franklyn. That is, of course, not your fault. I don't tell patients much about myself. Therapy should be about you not me, I'm not paid to give you my life story by the hour and, simply put, you can not love something you do not know."

"That's only because you won't let me know you."

"Then you agree that you don't know me and therefore can not love me. What you're feeling is infatuation, developing into obsession. You don't love me, you love the idea of me. What I could do for you, or to put it in your own words, what I have to offer you," Hannibal looked down at his notes during the discussion. He deduced Franklyn was likely attracted to power and influence, two major factors in keeping him connected with the world he longed to be part of. 

"I know love when I feel it," Franklyn's brow was starting to sweat and he looked at Hannibal unblinking in the fading light. 

"Do you? That is a very dangerous statement for one to make."

"I want you. I've never wanted anyone the way I want you."

"Lust is not love, Franklyn. Besides, I am almost sure you overestimate my prowess, it is not uncommon for those with obsessions to greatly exaggerate..."

"No!" the sudden raise in Franklyn's voice caused him to start, leaning slightly back in his chair. "I saw you inside that sex shop. I saw the riding crop." The words left a heavy blanket of silence between them. Hannibal suspected Franklyn was following them for most of their day in Baltimore but did not realize how much he'd seen. It could be troublesome. 

"A very common past time for many couples in our day and age. I'm afraid I am not the man you've mistaken me for," he remembered fondly the sound of the crop against bare skin and the way Will struggled beneath him. 

"I bet you're good with it," Franklyn's breath came heavy, his eyes transfixed on Hannibal. 

"I admit this conversation is uncomfortable on my part. What I do with the man I love in the sanctity of our home is my own business."

"I'd let you do it to me. Whatever you wanted. Whenever you wanted," Franklyn was ready at any moment to slide from his chair and drop to his knees. 

Hannibal sighed. "Perhaps I should make a note for your next psychiatrist to work with you on your self-esteem."

Franklyn jumped from his seat, eyes wide in disgust and hands balled into fists. "You can't refer me! I'll... I'll... do something to myself." 

A threat Hannibal had heard a handful of times over the course of his career. In all those years only one was fully sincere and he'd dealt with it as quickly as possible, adding to his acclaim when they made a full recovery. He shifted towards the phone on his desk. 

"Then I shall have to refer you to the hospital and have you kept in over night. I take all threats of suicide very seriously," he held the receiver up to his ear as he began to slowly type in the number. 

"No!" Franklyn cried out. "I didn't mean it like that."

"How else could you mean it? How else should I take it when my patient says something like that?"

"I don't need to be your patient," Franklyn came in close and placed his hands on the lapel of Hannibal's suit, just as he'd watched Will do so many times before. "I can do anything Will can do. Anything." Hannibal felt one hand begin to slide down the side of his jacket, trying hard to gain a reaction from the ghosting of sensitive skin. The proximity meant Franklyn's cologne assaulted his nostrils; not quite something with a ship on a bottle but definitely too strong on the musky notes. Worse still he couldn't back away from it being trapped between Franklyn's heaving body and his own desk. As he felt the hand try to slip to his crotch he took tight hold of it. 

"A step further and I will file for sexual harassment. I have been very amicable as of yet with your little 'chance meetings' but do not push my mercy."

"Didn't you sit in this office, this very office, with Will Graham and do the same?" Franklyn pulled back with a pout. 

"It's not sexual assault when both parties are consenting. I enjoy Will's touch, and now, since you are forcing me to be blunt, I will tell you I do not enjoy yours. Nor do I enjoy seeing you everywhere," Hannibal loomed to his full height and stepped forward, crowding Franklyn and pushing him back with each step. "Nor do I enjoy having multiple proposals ruined by a half mad man who somehow knows what restaurant I am at or what dog park my partner happens to walk in."

Franklyn eventually found himself backed up to the door, Lecter baring down from above, his face half shrouded in the evening shadows. 

"What would you say, if I told you that all you held dear of me was a fantasy? That each similarity or interest was a carefully designed mask I have sustained for years, and that mask, is not my true face. The very thing you adore is a falsehood I have cultivated for boorish fools like you," Hannibal's accent was stronger as he spoke each word, leaving it to sound like music to Franklyn's ears. All he saw was an Old God; terrifying and magnificent - testing his loyalty. All at once he went to lurch forward and kiss his assailant square on the lips. He was shoved back to the door with a thrust that knocked the air from his lungs. Suddenly, the door went from behind him as Hannibal opened it. He fell without grace straight onto his back. 

"This will be our last session, Mr Froideveaux. If you return, I shall call the police."

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The drive back home was quiet. A light blanket of snow was setting in, transforming the fields into silent canvas' awaiting the return of life. The trees stood bare. Everything behind them exposed in the dim light of the sunset. Glenn Gould poured through the speakers, calming him in preparation for his arrival. Everything in the office with Franklyn soured his mood. Not only the audacity of the man to try and kiss him but also how he'd interrupted his thoughts. He still needed to think of another way to propose to Will. The weight of the ring in his pocket grew heavier by the day. Each missed chance deprived him of another day in which he could see Will with the ring on his finger, see the brand of his ownership. 

Worse still, now he really would be a suspect if Franklyn went missing. He had no doubt in his mind that Franklyn's obsession would follow him until he was months in someone else's care or dead. He preferred the second option. Though now it would be a distant dream. The years he would need to wait to out run suspicion grew in number. As he drove up the driveway he saw the downstairs light. The curtains were pulled back and he could see Will, smiling softly to himself as he placed two plates on the dining room table. Hannibal's heart fluttered, adoring the sight of his partner waiting for him in their house. He opened the drivers side door to be greeted by the immense cold. His breathe fogged in front of him as he made his way up to the door. A sound made him stop. In the encroaching darkness he set his gaze out onto the fresh snow in front of the house. It stopped snowing nearly fifteen minutes ago, so when he noticed the fresh tracks leading up the side of his driveway to the garage he knew someone had beaten him home. He left the office only half an hour after he pushed Franklyn out. He stood wondering what to do when the front door swung open. 

"What are you doing out in the cold? Come in, dinner's ready," Will appeared in the doorway. He was breath-taking; a crisp, white dress shirt paired with charcoal trousers. His sleeves were rolled up revealing toned arms. The greatest care was taken with his hair which was swept neatly to the side with one accented curl falling forward. It shaped his sculpted jaw nicely, letting the trimmed beard add an edge of ruggedness with hints of silver showing through. His blue eyes shone in the porch light. Hannibal took a second to appreciate the moment. 

"Well?" Will motioned for him to come in. 

"Yes," Hannibal answered almost breathless. He forgot his hunting and came to the open doorway. He gave Will a brief kiss. "What is all this?" he lifted a hand to gently stroke an errant curl behind Will's ear. 

"I wanted to surprise you, so I cooked."

"I did not know you enjoyed cooking," Hannibal stepped inside and let Will close the door. Inside was pleasantly cosy, with the lights dim but present. He could smell a heavy dark roux. "You've prepared something from your Southern roots?"

"Creole-style gumbo," Will took Hannibal's coat and set it to the side. "Thought you might like to see the skills of the man you're living with."

They walked into the dining room hand in hand, enjoying the smell of hefty spice in the air. It was heavy with okra and thyme. Hannibal turned to Will and took both his hands and raised them to his lips to kiss each knuckle in turn. "It smells divine." 

"Don't praise me till you've tried it."

"Why don't you feed it to me?"

Will smiled coyly and turned to the table. He bent over to reach a spoon, purposefully bending a little more than need be so he could feel Hannibal's gaze linger. When he bought the spoon to Hannibal's lips, his hand was held firmly in a tight grasp. They kept eye contact as he took a mouthful. 

"Delicious," Hannibal licked his lips. Will took it as an invitation and brought his head close. As their lips met it instantly became deeper, open mouths and slick tongues moving at a steady pace. Will pulled Hannibal in closer, locking his arms around his neck and pushing their groins together. It was a sweet friction as he rocked into the motion. 

"I must warn you," Hannibal spoke between breathes. "We are being watched." 

"I thought I saw someone looking through the window just before you came in," Will smiled with kiss swollen lips. "Our little shadow?"

"Our little shadow," Hannibal nodded and freed himself from his partner's tight grasp. He walked calmly to the window, as though absentmindedly strolling about his home, and grabbed one curtain. 

"Leave them open."

Hannibal smirked at the idea and focused his eyes out into the darkness. There was no discernible movement, at least not to the naked eye. He scanned back and forth, focusing first on his car and then the far side of the porch. If Franklyn was outside he was hidden well. 

"Hannibal."

"I don't believe we're being watched at this moment."

"Hannibal."

"I wonder if I should call the police? I did threaten it earlier."

"Hannibal!" Will's voice finally won out over his intense concentration. He turned and stood in stunned silence. Will was down on one knee, a longing look on his face, and a ring box open in his hands. The ring was black titanium gleaming in the low light, framed beautifully by the blue velvet of the case. Hannibal's breathe came heavy. He wanted to etch the moment into his memory for eternity; the image of his Will, bent in submission. looking up at him with shining eyes. 

"I thought I might save you the trouble," Will's smile was radiant. "Since you've been having trouble."

Hannibal held back a warm chuckle. "You noticed, then?"

"I knew that restaurant patio wasn't empty by chance."

"I did try," Hannibal looked down on Will, a very faint blush spreading along his pale skin. 

"So, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, will you marry me?" 

A sweet silence hung between them for just a moment as Hannibal smiled widely and outstretched his hand. "Yes, I will." 

Will stood and took the ring out of the box. He slipped the cool metal over Hannibal's finger and he felt a thrill shoot down his spine. Finally, they belonged. From this point there was no return, no separation, no truth that could pull them apart. Each barrier fell useless against their melding of souls. 

"It's wonderful," Hannibal whispered. "And I have yours." He reached into his jacket pocket, producing a golden band with a solid black strip running through the middle. The only break in the pattern was for three small diamonds sat in a neat line from the top to the bottom. He lifted Will's hand and slipped it onto his finger. 

"I love it."

"It was my uncles."

"Then I doubly love it. I'm glad it's finally on my finger," Will laughed. "Though I know it's not for lack of trying."

"Yes, our shadow visited me at the office today," Hannibal gestured to the window and Will was aware of an almost unnoticeable shadow in the left hand corner. "I'm afraid that's why he's here."

"What happened?"

"He came to complain about you, then he tried kissing me," Hannibal enjoyed the ugly grimace that took Will's face at the idea of someone else touching him. 

"And did he?"

"Did he what?"

"Kiss you?" Will's hands gripped tightly at Hannibal's shirt. 

"No, I pushed him back and then let him fall through a door," Hannibal smiled as he followed Will's gaze to the window. There was a darkness in his eyes, a deep unsatisfied hunger that ached to hunt right that minute. "You mustn't be too rash, my darling. If he were to go missing, we would be first on the list of suspects."

Will's eyes came back to Hannibal and stayed silent for a few moments. Then, hot open mouthed kisses were at his neck, Will's teeth grazing skin. Next Will's hands went to his back to run short nails down the stretch of his flesh. One kiss became a hard bite. Hannibal shivered at the sensation of pain as his skin tore beneath teeth. Will sucked the mark, making indecent noises as he worked the bruise. His hand were still wondering, pulling Hannibal's shirt up and letting them roam his cool skin hidden underneath. 

"Are you possessive of me, Will?" 

Will left his newly cut mark to meet Hannibal's gaze. A few drops of blood sat on his lip. "You're mine," it was a growl ripped from the back of his throat. 

"He put his hands on me. Touched me," Hannibal edged closer. "How does that make you feel?" 

Suddenly, he was pushed back onto the couch. It sent a thrill straight to his groin to see Will be so forceful. He stood, eyes unwavering in their hunger as he looked over what he wanted. Finally, he sat a top Hannibal's lap with each leg either side. 

"Am I in trouble for letting someone else touch me?"

"You know you are," Will ran his hands softly up Hannibal's chest. "I'm the only one who gets to touch you." He settled a top Hannibal, grinding his hips forward for more friction. He let his fingers trace patterns on the exposed skin around his waistband. Hannibal lay his head back, exposing his neck for more abuse. Will took it as an invitation and gently licked the bite wound whilst his hands rubbed at the bulge in Hannibal's trousers through the material. 

"Do you want me to suck you off?"

"If you want." He felt Will's hand slide to the back of his neck and pull sharply at his hair. 

"No," Will scowled. "Beg me for it." His hips ground down again, drawing a short moan from Hannibal. He moved his thumb to stroke more at the growing bulge.

"Tell me how bad you want it," Will brought his lips to Hannibal's ear, letting his hot breath ghost the sensitive skin. 

"I want you."

"Again."

"I want you," it came out ragged as the sides of Will's hands kept working at him through the material. "I want your hands on me. Skin on skin." 

"Yeah? You like it when I touch you like this?" his hand dipped to unzip the trousers separating him from what he wanted. A few seconds later and the rough skin of his palm met the warm touch of Hannibal's shaft. It earnt him a deep satisfied moan. "What else do you like?"

"I like it when your forceful." 

The sensation of another hand joining the first, both equally as rough, one working the shaft and the other rubbing the sensitive skin of his sack. Will held a painfully slow rhythm at first; teasing and massaging in equal amounts. He was still kissing trails up Hannibal's neck. 

"Would you rather I was Franklyn?" Will hissed in a teasing voice. "He's only outside, I could get him if you ...."

"No! Just you, only you," Hannibal's head was swimming. 

"That's all I wanted to hear," Will kissed his neck one last time then he was on his knees. The feeling of hands was replaced by a tongue licking the head of Hannibal's penis. Will held eye contact as his hands continued their work at the shaft whilst he pressed his lips to the tip. "Do you like this?"

"Yes," it was barely a whisper as Will took all of him into his mouth. It took all of Hannibal's self control not to thrust into that tight, warm hole. Will struggled with the length, holding it for as long as he could before releasing. He took up an easy rhythm; taking in only half the length and using one hand to stroke the rest of the way. The other hand held Hannibal's hips, one thumb soothing the skin under his grasp. The vulgar sounds echoed around the room. They could still smell the food but the air grew heavier with sweat and sex. 

"Do you like knowing I'll do this for you when we're married? Whenever you want," Will dragged his tongue slowly along the sensitive slit. 

"Whenever," Hannibal's hands came down to stroke at Will's cheek, pushing errant strands of curls behind one ear. 

"I love you," and Will's mouth was back at work. He licked up and down, then took the whole of Hannibal's dick into his mouth. The urge to gag was strong but he hummed, letting the vibrations filter through sensitive skin and result in a strangled moan. The friction of it; the feel mixed with the wet heat had Hannibal squirming. He put his hands either side of Will's head and held him in place. He thrust, hearing Will gag. He found a smooth rhythm of back and forth, feeling the smooth of brown curls under his fingertips. It was an un-natural experience for Will - to leave himself so open. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't often used by people but this was different. He surrendered to the feeling, letting his hands smooth the skin of Hannibal's thighs. 

A few more thrusts and Hannibal could feel the pressure rising. His sack tightened, drool pooling at the corners of Will's lips with each movement. Their eyes focused in. In that moment. there was only the two of them; there was no outside, no world beyond their own. What they shared in that moment would carve itself into their very bone and be part of them until the day they lay to rest. The thought sent a shiver down Hannibal's spine and it was the final sensation before he felt himself cum. His eyes closed, limbs stiff then completely lax with bliss. Will swallowed and lifted his head to look up. 

"Have fun making me gag?" he resumed his seat on Hannibal's lap and grabbed a tissue from a nearby table. 

"My apologies, Will. I was lost in the moment."

"Did you, forget yourself?" he used a mocking tone. 

"It's seems I often do when you're around." 

"I do love you though," Will buried his face into Hannibal's neck, softly trailing kisses at the now healing bite mark. 

"And I love you, my betrothed," Hannibal returned the gesture with a kiss placed in amongst Will's curls.

"Betrothed? Is that the Count Lecter in you making an appearance?"

"Do you prefer intended? Husband-to-be?"

"How about fiancé , like a normal person," Will made a show of sighing and rolling his eyes.

"If we must be so plain, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

"Shakespeare. I'm banning you from quoting any Shakespeare, especially in the vows."

"Let a Doctor have his fun. Will." Hannibal flashed a toothy smile. "What have I studied art for all these years if not to say how it all pales at your feet?"

"I can and will set the strays on you."

"I think I stand a fair chance against Persephone."

"Effie is a biter," Will nudged their noses together gently. 

"And so are you," Hannibal smiled. 

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The temperature outside had dropped to minus 5 but Franklyn couldn't peel himself away from the window. He saw everything. As Hannibal looked out over his porch. Franklyn dropped low, stomach to the ground to hide. The dim light of the house didn't illuminate much outside. Then, he saw Will on one knee. It had happened to fast for him to think. He should have bowled through the door with some excuse, or even tapped viciously on the window until one of them came outside. He remembered Hannibal's promise about the police. In truth, he left out a few details about his past life with each new psychiatrist. He choose not to mention the two restraining orders already in place against him. One, for a Baltimore based opera singer that was the real reason he was kept from events. The other, for young Kevin, who stopped finding his midnight visits romantic somewhere into the sixth month of his new relationship. Anymore trouble with the police could be the end of him. 

It was hard to resist though, as he watched the couple exchange rings. Worse still was the show of intimacy afterwards. The angry mark Will made on Hannibal's lower neck was one of ownership. He was claiming a victory of the skin. More than anything. Franklyn knew it was to taunt him, to have some reminder of his victory over Hannibal's heart. Though, the battle wasn't over yet. They still needed to be married. Things could happen in the lead up to a wedding. Shoes could go missing, stained suits, venues ruined overnight. It was all far from over.


	8. The man who prepares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding preparations are the devil itself, especially when your fiance is an up his arse Count and you're this close to running away to Vegas and getting married in front of Elvis.

"I specified white roses, not red, for the arch," Will could hear Hannibal still on the phone in the next room. The proposal was a week behind them but somehow he let Hannibal talk him into a wedding in only 5 months. Something about urgency, the dire need to be conjoined as quickly as any man would allow. In the throws of a particularly good fucking it sounded great. Anything sounds great when you're having the life fucked out of you on thousand thread count sheets. However, in the wake of their decision all was not paradise. In his entire life Will never thought he would have to plan a wedding. He wasn't a romantic man. In general, he wasn't a man for settling down. Not too many people in the world liked dog hair and severe mental illness enough to commit. So, the experience was entirely new when Hannibal handed him cloth swatches, appearing from his back pocket as if by magic, all in equally indiscernible shades of white.

"The napkins need to offset from the darker dinner service. We have cream, eggshell or ivory to choose from. Personally, I favour ivory. Yourself?"

"There's a difference?"

Hannibal had given him a scrupulous look and sauntered off to finish his planning. That was the way it was for almost the whole week. Hannibal dived into the planning with a zeal Will hadn't seen before. He knew the man to be a perfectionist but the detail was painstaking. The main wedding would be held in Florence, Castello di Vincigliata. Their timeline was tight but Will knew better than to challenge the sway of Hannibal's money. He questioned whether Italy would even recognize their marriage. Though, as expected, Hannibal already looked into it and assured him everything would be perfectly legal. The service would be in April; weather permitting it wouldn't be too searing for the guests or the grooms. Where they were to take their vows was outside in the gardens surrounded by the lush green of Florence in all it's natural beauty. 

Will felt a pool of warmth in his stomach whenever he imagined the day. He knew it was fast approaching and he was making preparations of his own. It was a God given fact that he was no good at picking colours or floral arrangements or the right music, but he could dance. A fact he'd kept well hidden over the years. Even from Hannibal. When he was younger, his Dad caught on to what a little odd ball he was. Friends never came easy to the kid whose family moved around. Somewhere around the age of 10, when they'd finally settled in Louisiana and he was attending school regularly, his Dad tried every club under the sun. They tried wrestling but Will bit a kid so that was out. Next they tried swimming but he pissed in the pool like the little sod he was back in the day. That'd show his Dad for making him socially interact. Eventually, after multiple failed attempts, he was shoved in a dance class. 

"There you are, you little shit," he remembered his Dad affectionately smile. "Have fun with the girls."

He and his Father had a strange relationship. The old man knew everything the traditional way, the gritty way, and when his son came out more fragile than a glass baby chick he didn't know what to do. He wasn't the type to know. So, he did what he could. Worked hard to bring in the money and taught his little chick all the things his Father taught him. Screamed bloody murder when Will's otherness attracted attention from local busy bodies. Just did what a man could with what he had. He wasn't one for emotions; that was the missing piece in his old school masculinity. Though, Will knew his Dad loved him, because he always tried. Through tantrums and fits he didn't understand, he tried. In the end, the dance class was good for him. Without the pressure of a mostly male group, Will felt less performance anxiety. No one was going to smash into him or grab his head or force themselves too close. He got special attention as one of the only boys in the class. He even got to burn off extra energy with challenging routines. 

To his Dad's surprise he flourished. It was just Jazz and Tap at first but that teacher referred him over to the Ballroom teacher, who then referred him to the Ballet teacher. He tried a few styles in his pre-teen years, eventually settling on Ballroom and Ballet. Mainly, it was because Ballroom dancing had competitions where we could win cash prizes to bring home to his Dad. It was his way of saying 'thank you'. The Ballet was more of a whim, since he still liked dancing without a partner. Though at the same time, Ballet was one of the more challenging work outs he'd ever experienced. He knew it kept him fit without having to go through the grueling process of joining a local gym. The good thing about ballet was none of his school mates ever joined, especially the boys, so he never had to share that world with anyone he didn't like.

Over the years, he let it slide. In college he gave up Ballroom altogether and only kept going to an intermediate ballet class to let off steam. He already called a local dance studio and asked for refresher lessons. It was his little way of contributing. 

"No, ivory tablecloths, black chairs, white floral arrangements and three candles per table," Hannibal rushed past Will, planting a quick kiss in his curls before retreating into the study. "I specified silver as the accent colour for the cutlery." 

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Tracking down Will wasn't hard. His battered Jeep practically roared at it went down the side road into the hidden parking lot. A valet came out to meet him, looking over the beat up car with a skeptical glance and then a shrug of the shoulders. Will emerged from the drivers seat wearing a grey trench-coat with black trousers and shiny black shoes to match. Franklyn noted how much more put together he seemed. A little too put together. He was certain Hannibal had either dressed him or bought everything he was wearing. From a distance he could see the ring. It shone on his finger, the three small diamonds gleaming in the afternoon light. Each glimpse of it stung him. How unworthy Will was to wear it. 

He followed his target at a safe distance, painfully aware that Will was most likely on the look out for him. He'd left them well enough alone for about a week to let the fuss die down. Not only that, but to regroup and re-plan. He couldn't stop the proposal. However, he could hinder the wedding. He thought of the very traditional 'I object', pushing through heavy church doors and dropping to his knees to announce his love before God. Then he realized Hannibal already made clear his current displeasure at his affections. A big, dramatic scene would only push things in Will's favour. Plan B was to convince the pair that the marriage was fated to fail. To sow the seeds of mistrust. Then, he could watch the whole thing unravel from the shadows and conveniently be in place to mend Hannibal's broken heart. 

He saw Will turn left down a side street then right into a narrow door with 3 buzzers. A few minutes passed and he kept up the pursuit. Unfortunately, he didn't see which buzzer Will rang. The top one belonged to 'Pierre's School of Dance'. He discounted it immediately. Couple's who dance at weddings went to classes together, besides he knew Will wasn't the sort to indulge it. The next was 'Baltimore Hot Yoga Studio'. Definitely not. Finally, the last option was 'Rendezvous'. He googled it quickly and found it was an intimate, appointment only cafe that extended much of the first floor. The cafe promised privacy for important clients, away from the peering eyes of onlookers. Yes, that was the place. He clicked the buzzer. 

"Rendezvous. Name of reservation, please," a low pitched male voice came across the speaker. 

Franklyn panicked for a moment, eyes shifting left and right to make sure no one was listening. "Graham."

A slight pause left his heart fluttering. "Welcome sir, use the elevator to your left and we are on the first floor." A buzzing sound signaled the door was open and he scrambled inside as quickly as he could. His heart raced at the idea of what he'd find. Perhaps Will was already cheating and this meeting was with his lover. Why else would he need such a secluded cafe far from public sight? Or maybe he was in financial trouble? Or he his family was in town to stop the wedding? It sent him practically giddy, he skipped more than walked to the elevator and pressed for the first floor. When it opened on the other side he gasped. The cafe covered the whole of the floor, black marble booths with deep emerald chairs lined the walls whilst lush plants separated tables for more privacy. An accent of gold ran the borders of the bar, crystal glasses sparkling in the dim overhead light. A dull. low chatter permeated the place; all voices smoothed together but no faces clear in the shadows. It smelt like orange blossom and sandalwood. 

"Mr Graham?" he turned to find a tall, pale man with silvering hair and small scar under one eye standing alongside him. 

"N..no. I'm his guest."

"Mr Jacques, then?"

"Yes," Franklyn was thankful for the lie he was handed. 

"Please follow me," the man lead him away from the door along a maze of booths and tables. It was a sea of half heard sentences, like mysteries in the smoke coiling together as they rose higher and higher. The chatter was still an indistinguishable buzz. He saw flashes of Rolex's' and diamond rings from the tables. Finally, he was brought to a booth with two seats near the back. 

"Mr Graham has instructed he will be here shortly. He is just with our maitre d' in the office and he insists you order drinks," the tall man handed him a menu. "I will be back momentarily."

As he watched the waiter leave, Franklyn's stomach tied in knots. He would bet his life that Will was slipping the maitre d' money so no one would disturb his little meeting. Such a filthy player. Spending his time with other men whilst poor Hannibal waited at home. He could imagine the heart break when he told him, brought him pictures of the secret meeting. Though, he could just blackmail Graham. Have him disappear of his own accord. That would look much more natural compared to trying to convince Hannibal himself, who at this point might accuse him of fabricating everything. He looked to the menu. The wine list was a little scant for his taste but he settled on an expensive glass of Merlot. He waved down the waiter and ordered. With everything he'd been through over the past few weeks he thought Will owed him a drink or two.

That's when he saw them by the bar. A man with his back to him, scruffy brown hair and black trousers, talking to a man in his late forties. It had to be them. Will's dated mop was recognizable anywhere. He watched them talk and brought his phone up to snap a few pictures just as money changed hands. It certainly wasn't of him in bed with another man, but blackmail was blackmail. Franklyn's drink came and he sat there sipping it, feeling rather pleased with himself. To have caught Will off guard so early into the engagement was a dream. He planned to be following him for months for any little morsels he could find. He even considered turning to Freddie Lounds. 

"Excuse me, who are you?" he turned to see a large man in a pressed blue suit staring down at him. His olive skin creased as his eyes squinted behind square rimmed glasses. 

"I'm Frank... Mr Jacques," he quickly corrected. 

"No you're not. What the hell are you doing on my table?"

"Your table? This is Mr Graham's table."

"Yeah, that's me. Mr Montgomery Graham," his face puffed red and he lifted one chubby finger in the air. "Percy!"

The waiter that served him before quickly came over. "What seems to be the problem, Mr Graham?"

"This man isn't Mr Jacques. Why is he on my table?"

"My apologies, Mr Graham. This man said your name at the door and knew of your reservation. He told me he was Mr Jacques."

Franklyn felt their eyes fall on him and it made his skin crawl. He knew it was a risky game playing as someone else but with Will in sight he couldn't let it all slip away. 

"I'm here for Mr William Graham. You told me he was talking with the maitre d' and I can see him over there," Franklyn pointed. 

"I was talking with the maitre d', and if you're here for someone else why did you pretend to be my guest? Get this man out of here!" Montgomery dabbed at the sweat on his brow and gestured for Franklyn to be pulled from the seat. 

"Right away, sir," Percy stepped between them. "It is time for you to leave now."

"No, I know it's him. You're all covering for him," Franklyn raised his voice, causing a momentary lull in the buzz around him. He got up and dashed over to where he could see Will still talking. A hand went to Will's shoulder, forcing him to turn and face Franklyn... and it wasn't him. He was greeted by a confused look from wide set, brown eyes. The man he caught was barely in his twenties let alone a thirty something Special Agent. Franklyn was escorted out by the waiter, but not before being handed a $65 bill for his wine and a ban from returning. He slumped outside near the door. If he wasn't in the cafe, then where did he disappear to? Suddenly he heard the door open and he slid back behind a sign. Standing there, slightly pink in the face, was the devil himself. 

"Great class today, Will. You're picking it back up quickly," a voice with no face called from inside. 

"Thanks, I forgot how hard dancing kicks my ass though. I'll be sore for days."

"We all get old, huh?"

"Hey, I'm not dead yet," Will laughed. " See you next week." 

Will walked off, a gentle smile on his face and a flush creeping across his skin. If he was stood, Franklyn would have kicked himself.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was a month to go for the wedding. All the invites were sent out and most everyone they invited was coming along. 

"You in a suit and tie, in Italy, in a castle, saying lovey dovey stuff to Lecter whilst you hold eye contact?" Beverly grinned. "One, I have to be there to witness it. Two, I have to document it for future generations." 

Will felt giddy about all his friends being around him on the big day. However, a cloud of nerves filled him every-time he thought of the vows. As neither of them were religious they'd taken to writing their own. He had no doubt Hannibal's would be beautiful. How could they not with all those years of education in Paris? His own words were the problem. In 4 months the best he could think of was 'I love you'. He wrote more but each time it felt flat or cheesy. For Hannibal's sake, he wanted it to be special but he just wasn't the sort of man to be good at putting it to paper. 

"We'll meet up in Baltimore. I can help you put it together," Beverly's voice on the phone was so comforting. 

"Since when are you the Love Doctor?"

"Since I bought a rose one time and stopped at Whole Foods for vegan chocolate. I'm practically a female Romeo."

"Could of just said Juliet," Will smirked over the phone. 

"Nah, I'd 100% be the one climbing the balcony. You know my dedication to a good photo op."

So they met up in a big brand cafe just on the edge of Baltimore heading out to Towson on the 83. It was a stock photo sort of place; wide open with minimalist design and standard options. Katz took her pick of an iced caramel latte, the condensation dripping down the glass in the growing heat. Will ordered a black coffee and winced slightly when he sipped. Hannibal had already spoiled most things for him by extending his palette. 

"So, how far have you gotten?"

"I do."

Beverly let her head slump to the side, a grimace stretching her thin lips. "Seriously? It's a month away!"

"I know that, that's why you're here. I can't do this."

"What did you say when you proposed to him?"

"Will you marry me?" Will took another sip of coffee and let the smell wash over him as he brought the cup to his lips. 

"You're officially the most romantic person known to man. How did he not jump you when he met you, rip his shirt asunder and ask you to just take him there and then," Beverly took the edges of her cardigan and mimicked tearing it apart. Her eyes held up to the sky whilst her mouth hung open in mock surprise. 

"Asunder?" Will smirked behind the rim of his cup. 

"I'm pretending to be Hannibal," she shrugged. "I bet his vows are gonna be a speech. $100 says he compares you to a summers day."

"I banned him from using Shakespeare."

"You think that works in your favour, but you know he'll just reference something even more ridiculous and even more obscure."

Will nodded and starred down at the dark coffee in his mug. In his head, he went through all the things Hannibal ever mentioned to him. The books he read were normally more mysterious than what he could find in a shop. Though there was one which wouldn't be so hard to get a hold of. 

"Dante's Inferno." 

"What?" 

"He like's it, and the first few lines are pretty interesting."

"Oh yeah?" Beverly lifted her head and starred at Will, waiting for the answer. 

"Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, ché la diritta via era smarrita."

She blinked at him. "I don't speak Italian."

"Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward path had been lost."

"A little dark, but I can see it working for you," she smiled softly at the idea of Will in his wedding suit, trembling with each syllable as clumsy Italian fell from his lips. Franklyn could see it too. It burned him on the inside to see how close they'd become. Even Will was starting to come up with good ideas. Ever since the incident with the dancing studio he stuck to Will like glue; following him a little more closely than before and even opting for sunglasses. That's why he was sat with his back to him, hidden just behind a wall for a smaller alcove the shop offered. Luckily, he got there before either of them. Will was more in the habit of speaking his plans out loud over the phone than Hannibal, so it wasn't hard to know where he was going. Better yet, he'd have those conversations at his University, where there were plenty of places to hide. He couldn't turn down the chance to ruin the vows. If Will turned up with nothing Hannibal would see. 

"So let's have that as the opening," Beverly scribbled it down in a note book. "What else?"

"You tell me," Will shrugged. 

"Come on, you have to feel some sort of way about him. You're marrying him for fuck sake."

"I know," Will slouched in his seat, letting his back slide down the chair. " He makes me feel... safe."

"Yeah?"

"Like really safe. It's weird because I don't think other people would like it. It's smothering, but to me I love it. I just, it feels like for once my mind just calms the fuck down and I can see clearly. You know?" he recalled seeing Hannibal in the forest, hand outstretched and welcoming. 

"Aw, got it bad huh?" Bev picked up a straw and blew the paper holder at Will. He dodged poorly and it hit his chest. 

Franklyn twisted the napkin in his hand continuously, wringing it with every new word. It should have been him. He knew Hannibal more than Will ever would. If he was the one writing vows he could gone on for years, wax lyrical about the life they'd lead together. He'd always imagined a house in Vienna. A small patio with deck chairs that caught the sun just right as it began to sink behind the horizon. He and Hannibal would dress for dinner like civilized people. They'd go out to the markets for fresh ingredients, fingers linked and eyes locked like love-struck fools. Hannibal would call him širdelė. At night, they'd barely be parted from the sheets. Franklyn let out a sigh as he thought of it. 

"Yeah, I love him Bev," the sound broke Franklyn from his daydream. "That's why I need these vows to be good. He deserves that much. You should see how much effort he's putting into this. Christ, I'd have said I do in the barn back home in Wolf Trap. He's arranged a fucking castle. There's flowers and musicians and did you know there's a colour called Ecru? I didn't."

"I want to tell you I do know, but I'd be lying. It's all so romantic. A whirl wind wedding in a castle in Florence. I know a few women in their early thirties that might just shiv you for a venue like that."

"I don't know how he got it so last minute. Hannibal might have shived someone for it."

"Nah," Beverley looked down at her notes. "The rich pay people to go away. Stabbing is Plan B for them, Plan A for us."

"Trying to admit something there?" Will took the final gulp of his coffee, watching as brown sludge at the bottom of his cup slipped forward. 

"No. I mean, I almost stabbed my sister once when she took my Malibu Barbie, but I was like 10 and my knife was a pink crayola. So, judge me as you will Special Agent Graham," she held her hands out in front of her, ready to be mock cuffed and let them fall back to her sides when Will gave them a light slap. "Have a read of this. I've put together some of the stuff you've said."

She handed over the notebook for Will's scrutiny. Franklyn edged as close as he possibly could without revealing himself. He needed to hear him. If they were really bad he could let Will's idiocy be it's own undoing. If they bordered on acceptable he needed to destroy them. A thick silence came from the table where Beverly and Will sat. The only noises were the baristas clanking cups together as they cleaned. 

"I like it but I want to add some more. Give me the pen," Will motioned for Beverly to pass it over. A few more moments of silence as he concentrated. 

"Oh, Will. You big softy. I knew it was in there. Under all the gunk."

"No you didn't," Will smirked. 

"Yeah, no, but we got there. I need to go to the bathroom, I'll be right back and then we can head out," Beverly stood and Franklyn heard the clip of her boots as she walked by. He kept his head down. The only option was to destroy the notebook. It would be simple enough to do with a cup of coffee and a shoulder bump. As they left he'd quickly come up behind them, bump into the one holding the book, spill the coffee and then be gone before they could stop him. The first problem would be ordering another drink without Will recognizing him. Though he knew Will was less perceptive of his surroundings than Hannibal. Franklyn pulled down his sports cap and threw on his shades. Paired with a Lakers' jacket, jeans and old work boots he looked nothing like himself. All he had to do was keep his face turned away. 

He stood slowly and made his way back up to the baristas. One grande order of hot caramel latte to go was all he needed. Four pumps of caramel would make it nice and sticky, apt to ruin paper. Having it hot was just his little treat to Will. With any luck it would scold his precious face. He tapped his fingers on the counter as the one blonde haired barista started slowly pouring out his coffee. Then, he saw Beverly return from the bathroom. 

"Hey, let's head back to Quantico," she motioned for Will to stand and join her. 

Franklyn panicked. The drink wasn't done; the barista was only just putting in the pumps of caramel. 

"I'm coming," Will stood up from the place where he was scribbling. He tucked the notebook just under his arm and Franklyn saw his chance slipping away. The pair were almost at the door when he heard the barista ask, "Would you like whipped cream with that?"

He grabbed the whole thing from her hand and made a mad dash for the door. Will was just outside still holding the door open. He could catch him if he just sped up a little, it would even make the whole thing more realistic to bump into him - but he didn't bump into him. He bumped into the old woman that Will was holding the door open for. The coffee didn't spill on the notebook. It cascaded down onto the little dog sitting in the old woman's trolley. The only luck he had in that moment was that he fell forward onto his hands and knees, obscuring his face. 

"What the hell?" he heard Will's voice from behind. It sent him sprinting off down the street, abandoning his coffee and his plan. 

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Two weeks to go and what was once Will's sanctuary felt like his own personal Hell. The house was full to the brim with wedding planning. Every week there was someone new come to talk to him, or more accurately to Hannibal. He would sit there like a geriatric; a whiskey in one hand and a fake smile on his face. Floral arrangements came and went. Caterers were booked then they weren't, Hannibal's need for perfection made him teeter on the idea of catering it all himself. Then he spoke non stop of the ingredients and the time and how it would all fit in with his own schedule as the Groom. Will rubbed his temples. He loved being with Hannibal so much because it was meant to be calm. The last month was anything but. 

"Will, are you alright?" Hannibal emerged from the study with the phone still in his hand. 

"Yeah, headache," he didn't much feel like talking. 

"Then perhaps whiskey isn't the best medicine," he went to pick the glass up before Will stopped him. 

"Leave it," Will snapped. "I'm still drinking."

"You said you have a headache. I'll fetch you some Tylenol."

"I can get my own pills. I just need some quiet." 

"You've been alone in this room for some time, Will. Are you sure you're okay?" Hannibal brought his hand close to Will's brow but it was slapped away. 

"When I have a headache I don't want you to touch me. It makes it worse," his own hands resumed their rubbing at his temples. 

"You seem in a bad mood," Hannibal moved away and took the whiskey glass with him. 

"I said I was still drinking that."

"I know, and it will only make your mood worse so I'm removing it," he turned to look his fiance in the eye. There was silence for a few moments as Will returned his gaze and one of his hands gripped the edge of the arm chair. 

"I'm not 5, Doctor Lecter. Give me my drink back."

"Doctor Lecter. Since when did we revert to my title?"

"When you started acting like my Doctor. The drink, if you please," Will held out one hand and motioned for the glass to be returned. Hannibal held it firmly, bringing it closer into his chest. 

"If you're not 5, you'll know that whiskey will made a headache worse. I will get you some pills and we can go to bed. We need to go shopping tomorrow."

Will grunted. "For more crap for the wedding?"

"Yes, 'more crap' for the wedding," Hannibal stood suddenly and placed the glass down at the side. "Perhaps if you were more involved in it's planning your complaint wouldn't seem so childish." He walked off in the direction of the kitchen, his figure stiff and his voice cold. Will stood to follow him. 

"More involved? I haven't really had much of a choice. Half the planners you talk to are Italian. Tell me, when did I learn Italian, Hannibal?"

Hannibal was in his usual spot at the fridge, diligently surveying the available meat and keeping his back to Will. "My apologies, I should have translated every word. I know how thrilled you are about colour schemes, I should have painstakingly taken the time to explain each shade." He grabbed a cut of liver and all but slammed the fridge door shut. 

"Yeah, it would have killed you to consider I didn't want all this fuss in the house," Will downed the rest of the whiskey in one and Hannibal caught sight of it over his shoulder. 

"Aren't you a clever boy? Now, you can complain to me tomorrow about how awful I am for making decisions without you when you don't want to come shopping."

"Maybe I won't be here tomorrow."

"Oh, really?" Hannibal glared at him. 

"Maybe I'll be in Wolf Trap. I should see my dogs," Will set the glass down making a point to let it sit directly on the kitchen island. 

"Perhaps you should."

Silence fell again. An uncomfortable silence that stifled the air and made everything feel heavy. Hannibal kept on with preparing his meal, his back to Will, with the sounds of the knife on the chopping board echoing through out the room. Will waited for a moment, then took it as an invitation to leave. He hauled himself up noticing he wasn't exactly stable on his feet. No driving. He sighed and walked as best he could to the front door without bothering to grab his keys. The knife kept it's steady rhythm, never stopping. It was times like this he missed his dogs most. He was still checking in with them; preparing them for the eventual move over to Hannibal's. Each one had spent some time there already. Harley even lovingly christened the garage door. Will remembered watching the little dog squat and piss as he stepped outside into the cold. Before he closed the door behind him he heard the chopping stop and silence take the house again. It was 5 degrees outside. He could see his breath in front of his face as he walked out into the darkening evening. 

"No where to go," he thought. He certainly couldn't drive back to Wolf Trap. It pissed him off to admit it but he shouldn't have had that last whiskey, or the two before. His head was pounding. The further from the artificial light of the house the better he felt. There was the land out back he could trail for a while. Though he'd eventually have to turn back and give in. The thought of Hannibal standing there with 'I told you so' on his lips drove him on, crunching grass under foot in heavy, furious strides. Everything smelled like mud. A fresh rain came earlier in the day, making most of it decidedly miserable. Today was the day he collected term papers from his students and only an hour of marking showed him five weren't passing. He crumpled his face at the memory of one that had spent so little care they used two different killer's names' interchangeably. Why did he even bother?

Quantico was a Hell all in it's own right. Every minute of every day it was something. Jack never stopped harassing him; there's a new killer, Will. He's worse than the last, Will. Come and fix it, Will. All be damned if he take just a moment to sit on his own and not have every sick fuck in a fifty mile radius with their hands wrapped in his mind. God forbid he have a little peace every now and then. He kept walking out, now far beyond what he knew someone in the house would be able to see. He came to a small clearing with trees bordering the land. In the darkness they didn't cut much of a figure unless focused on closely. The mass of leaves high above the ground swayed gently, a soft rustling noise floating in the air. He found the tallest one and patted the earth underneath it. It was relatively dry. He took a seat, folding his legs and leaning back as he closed his eyes. Just some peace was all he wanted. 

Back at the house a little shadow had seen everything and was standing with a grin on his face. He'd waited for a moment like this. Will's sour face was noticeable through the window and even though he couldn't hear them he knew not all was well in paradise. The slam of the front door was music to his ears. Even better was the sight of Will disappearing into the darkness. It was too perfect. He hadn't even had to do anything and they were fighting. Only two weeks to go and they couldn't keep it together. So much would be wasted if they split now. Though, that would work perfectly with his plan where he swooped in after a failed marriage and snatched the good Doctor up. A weakened heart could make rash decisions; decisions that could turn into long term relationships. Franklyn peered into the window to watch Hannibal's reaction. As Will closed the door there was nothing. A few moments later he emerged from the kitchen, wearing his usual white shirt and matching apron. He stood in the doorway to the living room, shoulders low with hands clasped together, wringing them back and forth. His eyes looked longingly at the front door. 

Franklyn wanted to comfort him. He needed to assure him that there would always be better out there than what he was suffering through. The thought almost caused him to give up his hiding place. It was tempting to swing through the door and present himself as a replacement. Eventually, he saw Hannibal release a sigh and shuffle back into the kitchen. So, Franklyn planned his next move. A dark thought flashed in his mind. What if Will never returned from his walk? He was drunk. There were so many places to fall out in the woods. There was even a small stream near by where he might drown. Hannibal would grieve, for a while. It would be hard to cope with the loss of a young lover, but with time and attention from a caring friend he would move on. Franklyn stopped a moment, appalled at his own dark thoughts - but he was desperate. The man of his dreams was to be married in two weeks time. Nothing he did so far worked. It didn't have to be violent. Just a push down a little ledge. Lead him down an unsteady path. People went missing all the time.

With his courage still fresh he went about following Will. There was trampled grass showing his trail across the field but then almost nothing leading into the trees. Franklyn thought it out and naturally assumed he must have headed further in. To the left of his spot and behind a thick layer of brush, Will sat with his back against a tree. The feeling of cold earth was grounding. Crisp air filled his lungs and for the first time that day he felt his head start to clear. Jack might call again in the morning, but Hannibal always answered those calls. He made a new policy with Jack, or surrounding his communications. Any call before 8 am, especially during times when he wasn't working an active case, went straight to Hannibal. Jack joked that Will was a big boy and could take his own calls. Hannibal laughed along and told him he wouldn't have his husband worked into the ground. Then he thought of his students; nattering, blank eyed bunch of time wasters that they could be. 

He wasted hours of his life grading papers. Some of them couldn't even be bothered to spell correctly. They made it in to Quantico and couldn't be bothered to use spell check on a 5,000 word essay. 

"The focus of this essay will be the crimes of the Zodiac Killer," Will read aloud to Hannibal one evening. 

"Thrilling, I don't suppose they've cracked the case?" Hannibal had sat on the arm of Will's chair and took the paper from his hand. 

"Yeah, the butler did it."

"Obviously, butlers are naturally evil. Unlike general servants, who love their masters wholeheartedly."

They laughed. Remembering it brought a shot of warmth up through his stomach and it manifested as a small blush on his face. Hannibal always made the best out of the worst situations. He was the peace in an otherwise stormy world. The wedding was consuming their lives but he didn't love him any less. He just longed for the time when it would be just them. No more wedding planners. No more guests or friendly visits or floral drop offs. Just himself, Hannibal and the dogs. All living together peacefully. He looked at his watch in the dark. He'd had enough time to cool off and the brisk air sobered him up a little. He stood, slightly more stable than before, and made his way back to the house. 

As he fumbled closer he could see the porch light was on and Hannibal was stood in the doorway. On second glance, he was kitted out in his coat and rubber boots, one hand with his keys in the door. 

"Going out?" Will smiled weakly. Hannibal started slightly, having been in such a rush to close the door and be gone he hadn't noticed Will's approach. 

"There you are," a sigh of relief in his voice. 

"Were you coming to look for me?" the more he looked at Hannibal's rushed outfit, mismatched tan coat with Will's bright green boots, the fonder he felt. 

"It's been half an hour. I was afraid you'd started walking."

"All the way back to Wolf Trap?"

"Just, away from me," the sad tone in Hannibal's voice caused a pain in Will's stomach. He looked so dejected, shoulders low and eyes glossing over with the mist of panic. 

"I wouldn't do that," Will came in close and put his arm around his partner's waist. "Let's go inside, it's freezing."

Hannibal let himself be led in by the hand. Will took both their coats off, careful to let his hands linger over Hannibal's shoulders as he pushed the fabric aside. "Nice boots."

Hannibal looked down. "I couldn't seem to find my own." The gesture was puppy-like and Will couldn't stop himself as both his arms came to encompass his waist and pulled them both closer together. 

"I'm sorry for being a dick earlier. I'm just stressed, y'know?"

"I know. I'm sorry for calling you a child. I want you to be part of the planning," Hannibal nuzzled his face into Will's neck and peppered light kisses up into his curls. 

"No, I started it. I'm always such a grouch when anything changes, and my students got to me today."

"Another thrilling essay on the Zodiac Killer?" Hannibal brought his head back so he could meet Will's gaze. "Perhaps they've solved the case of Jack the Ripper?"

"No, I'd 100% steal that and publish it as my own. Big bucks in anything with 'Ripper' on it."

"How cruel," he gave Will a gentle dig in his side and then squeezed him closer. 

"You know me, biggest bastard around."

"When you drink, maybe," Hannibal smiled softly and brought his lips to Will's. They were both chapped from the cold weather, but the sensation of touch was such a reaffirming pleasure. 

"I'm sorry, again. I want to get married and I love the wedding, and you. I'll do whatever you want to make it up to you."

"Whatever I want?"

"Yeah, you can spank me if you want. I'll do whatever," he placed a quick kiss on Hannibal's left cheek. 

"I think I'd like a quiet night. Dinner and then early to bed. Would you like that, my darling?" Hannibal returned the favor with a string of kisses along his jawline. 

"Sounds like heaven," Will smiled into the touch and they wandered into the living room hand in hand. 

Out in the woods, Franklyn was not having such luck. That is to say, he was having exactly the amount of luck he was accustomed to. Only a short walk into his trek he got one boot stuck in the fresh mud. He tugged at it. At one point he felt he was going to dislocate something if he pulled anymore. Finally, it came off with a pop - and he fell backwards into something foul. His entire back was covered in brown sludge, all of which was freezing cold. With one shoe on and one shoe off he trudged forward. He limited himself to only so far into the woods. He figured if Will went any further than that he was a dead man on his own. The thought of Hannibal alone in the house brought him warmth. How heroic he'd look now, having risked his life to go in pursuit of an undeserving drunkard. He was like Mr.Rochester caring for the disturbed wife in the attic or Mr Darcy secretly trying to undo his wrongs. Hannibal had to know how he'd tried to save Will from himself. He could go back now, knock at the door in his sad state and explain how, yes he might have been waiting outside, but he'd run after Will to stop him. How valiantly he'd tried. Then, Hannibal would let him inside to comfort him. Then... the thought made him blush. 

He almost skipped his way back to the house, seeing that the dinning room light was still on he raced forward, stopping just short of the door. He composed himself. At a time like this, when he was being heroic, he couldn't seem happy about Will's disappearance. He was sad. He was composed. After a few moments he tapped lightly on the door with just his knuckles. A soft thudding told him Hannibal was approaching. As the door opened he could smell the delicious scent of a home cooked meal mixed in with Hannibal's own cologne. Up close he looked even more soft, free of his usual suit and still adorned in an apron. 

"Franklyn?" his voice was calm and betrayed no surprise. "I'm disappointed to see you here."

"I'm sorry to come with such bad news."

"Bad news?"

"Yes, I followed Will out across the field, you see. I saw him slam the door and head out into the darkness and I..."

"Whilst you were waiting in the darkness yourself?" Hannibal crossed his arms and glared down at him. 

"Well, y-yes but I tried going after Will to talk some sense into him. I knew it was too cold for him to be out, and his breath smelled like liquor. I tried to stop him, Hannibal!"

"Oh yes?" Hannibal lent forward, seemingly intrigued.

"I told him to go back to you, in the house, but he was saying such awful things about you. All the names under the sun. He was so drunk and he stumbled off into the woods along an unmarked route. I don't know if you'll find him!"

"Find who?" a familiar voice cut across Franklyn's and caused him to stiffen on the spot. Will appeared as if from thin air, a glass of water to his lips and his skin flush from his outside jaunt. 

"You, my dear. Apparently Franklyn here tried valiantly to stop you from taking a dangerous path in the woods. That is, after you were done telling him what a cut throat I am," Hannibal smiled and allowed some space for Will to move forward.

"I must have been really drunk because I don't remember any of that."

"You were!" Franklyn spluttered. "You were horrendously rude about Hannibal. So drunk I couldn't stop you! A-and you were hallucinating, talking about murderers in the woods"

"That so? Just between me and you?" Will made a quick glance back at Hannibal as though checking his surroundings before leaning forward to whisper in Franklyn's ear. "He's the biggest dick in Baltimore. Don't tell him that though. Sssshhhhh," He patted Franklyn's shoulder and gave him a quick wink before turning back. "Hannibal? When did you get there? I must be hallucinating." 

"You're a comedian, Will," he smirked. 

"I try."

"Now, Franklyn," Hannibal concentrated on the matter at hand. "I'm afraid this time I really will be calling the police."

Franklyn's heart sunk. It was such a good plan.


	9. The man lost in dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahahahahahahahaha, yes it's been months, yes I'm a scumbag and yes I still hold out hope that someone gives two flying fucks about this story. 
> 
> Hannibal and Will are about to do their ritual in Lithuania but Franklyn is trying to tag along.

The dream descended like it always did. Snow fell silently in the chill air creating fields of plush powder. Everything was dyed a pale pink as the sun's glow dipped below the horizon - then fading to blue as nightfall came. The castle was warm. A fire burnt steadily in the master bedroom. Its flames cast shadows on the high ceilings and heavy drapes that covered the bed. He lay alongside Hannibal as the Count trailed one lazy finger over the sensitive skin of his clavicle. Feelings of pure lust ran ravenous through his dozing mind; each light touch close to edging him towards a hedonistic fulfillment, a nihilist dream of flesh on flesh, driven only by base carnal wants. Hannibal was the image of sex. A tight black robe fell open to reveal a toned chest with tufts of soft, greying hair. It drove him wild to think of touching it. The rest of the robe left little to the imagination, coming up short, ending just at the top of Hannibal's upper thighs. With clear indication of no underwear, his bare skin glowed in the orange light of the open flames - soft flickering beams cascading along the silken sheets and revealing intimate details. Such as the deep golden-brown of Hannibal's eyes.

Half-lidded and fixated only on him, they bared all. A dark ocean lay there; secrets mixed like wine, thick and heavy in its depths of terror that crept up one's flesh then down one's spine. That's how Franklyn knew Hannibal was special. His eyes were the windows of his soul. Sometimes brown like the muted earth or dark red like some terrifying animal, poised and possessive. In his dreams, they were always laced with gold. Ethereal and divine; in this place Hannibal was a God of his own making. All the shackles of reality lay in a broken mess, bound no more around his aching wrists that longed for some sanctuary. Each whim of his own was to be catered for. Each sin contained in castle walls. So, this Hannibal would gaze at him fondly from his position on their bed in his ancestral home. This Hannibal let the hand that soothed his clavicle travel up to ghost touches at his neck and then further still to cup his cheek. A cold metal pressed against his skin. His ring. The one, that in this world, Franklyn had bought.

Hannibal smiled and lifted himself to straddle his still lying partner. The glow of the fire framed him so perfectly - ever the God that Franklyn knew him to be. Thin lips stretched across his beautiful face to form a smirk. Their world was quiet. Dense crackling from the fire echoed around them and mixed with the low-pitched thrum of their breath. It would stay with Franklyn forever. If only he could have this moment for eternity, do it justice in a sketch or a painting that would sit in his house, a prized piece of beauty that would set the standard for all beauty both before then after. The robe was pulled loose and allowed to fall apart. The Count in all his glory descended to all fours so as to crawl along the bed to his lover.

"Mano meilė," a thick, accented voice spoke. It was much heavier than that of Lecter's real voice, and the accent thicker.

"Mano vienintelė meilė," a warm hand interlaced with Franklyn's and brought it to thin lips for a kiss. Dreams like this plagued him night after night since that first therapy session. The Doctor, in various states of undress, in various locations; his office at first, then his home, the opera when he felt horny. Finally, he read about Lecter Castle. Words could not describe the animalistic pleasure Franklyn felt at the mere thought of such traditional grandeur. What carnal depravity ran through his blood as he found the gateway to his long sought-after world. Money and friendship were one thing. Reputation and blood were another. That sweet, unreachable core of his want lay buried beneath layers of hard context. A man born outside the group would spend his life fighting to be allowed in, and once he was there, he would spend his life fighting to keep it. However, a man born to its greatness could fly too close to the sun and still mend his wax wings whilst falling. The castle was the ultimate symbol of lineage. Only those so lucky as to be born into greatness could dwell there, or those so lucky as to marry in.

Fantasies mixed with half-truths in Franklyn's mind. Research had shown him that the names of each Lecter descendant were kept in an aging family tree stored in the library. During the re-capture of the castle in war times it was preserved. Then, it was handed back to what was left living of its owners. Gossip and secrets surrounded the staunch walls. The Lecter's were a mythical family. Though one long trailed story burrowed in his conscious like a bug, emptying out his shame and rationality to claim permanent refuge. It was said to be tradition amongst the Lecter's that only the first wife may sleep in the master bedroom of the castle. At the time, Franklyn took it for mere conjecture. However, on further study it proved almost entirely true. There was a strong Lecter tradition for one marriage and one marriage only, even going as far back as 'Hannibal, The Grim.' Those whose spouses died did not remarry unless in need of children. Even then, couples would relocate to a separate bedroom to the one used by first wives. Affairs had not been looked on kindly. Mistresses and their ilk were seldom entertained at the castle, including by the staff. The Lecter's were, without doubt, dedicated to family. 

That's why the dreams of the castle were so intimate. Each venture into the master bedroom was like initiation; acceptance poured from the hazy glow of the fire, dowsed in the full perfume of all the Lecter's that came before. He was part of a dynasty. Soft sheets beneath bare skin were part of the process. Hannibal kissed his heaving chest and leaned forward, face mere inches from Franklyn.

"Kol mirtis mus isskirs."

In Baltimore, the real Hannibal woke suddenly. A flash of fever ran through his flesh as a strange terror rocked his mind. The movement woke Will, who with one eye still closed and the other barely open, turned to face his partner.

"What’s wrong?"

Hannibal shivered. "I dreamt of home."

Large windows haunted the crevices of his mind, starring out at him like the hollow eyes of the past. It was years since he last saw the home of his boyhood. After Robertas found him they never made much ceremony of returning. In the back corner of the library, Mischa's doll would still lie. The dinner service still set where it was left. A life frozen in the moment. A life he did not allow himself to think of often.

"Isn't home a good thing?" Will got up and slid closer to Hannibal. He could see from the way he clung to the sheets it wasn't a pleasant dream.

"Perhaps. I wouldn't know after so long."

"But you liked living there?"

"Yes, before everything I did. It seems so long ago now," Hannibal's eyes concentrated on something far off, only view-able in the distance of his mind. Smells came back to him first. A wave of pine and honey stuck to Mischa's jacket as she ate heartily in front of an open fire.

"We'll know tomorrow... or today, more like. The flight's at 9, Hannibal. We need to be up at 6. Get some rest," Will's right hand came to Hannibal's chest and gently pulled him back down to the pillow. Heads close together, they could hear each other's breathing.

"I want you to like it, Will. It's ours," Hannibal's voice was drowsy.

"I will, I promise."

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The airport was almost as crowded as New Years at Times Square. Children milled around exhausted parents whilst distant relatives waited with flowers at the arrivals gate. Nothing seemed organised. A voice came over the loud speaker, asking again and again for 'Mr Williams.' Various officials clattered around lines, desks and doors marked 'No Entry'. No one was paying attention to them. Hannibal took hold of his hand, whisking them through a sea of blank faces in waiting chairs, all glued to one screen or another. Again, the call for 'Mr Williams' ran through the air. All the walls were a bright, clinical white and the artificial lighting of the shops just added to the glare. They were making a bee-line for the first-class lounge. It was set back at the rear of the Departures hall. The entrance was a stark contrast to the white of everything else; a beige outline with glass doors and the words 'First Class' etched into a little golden plaque. Hannibal produced their boarding passes and handed them to the neatly dressed woman waiting at the door.

A moments delay and they were inside. Freshly baked croissants sat in glass cases behind the bar and just to their right a machine brewing coffee. Furthest away, an entire wall of windows looked out onto the airfield where jets waited patiently on tarmac. A few other passengers sat in select groups of twos and threes. It wasn't busy. Hannibal motioned for Will to take a seat in a large, brown armchair.

"Finally, some peace," Will smiled as he sat. The warm smell of chocolate drifted to his nostrils. "Shall we eat?"

"I will order for us both. Coffee and a pain au chocolat?"

"Yeah," Will let a small laugh escape his lips. "I'll take whatever first class will give me." He slid back into the leather, letting his shoulders drop and a long breath exhale. There were parts of his body that still ached from the last few days. It was frantic over the past week. The trip to Lithuania was planned 2 months prior, and the countdown had begun with more trepidation than Will expected. He knew his own anxiety wouldn't be quiet, but he never expected Hannibal's. Usually so calm and collected, the man had been a mess of nerves. One-night Will had found him staring blankly out into the darkness of the night through the kitchen window - completely oblivious to the burning roast in his oven. Another time he walked straight into the kitchen island, nearly doubling himself over and landing the other side. A constant twitch in his eye found daily footing over the last week. He would forget things, almost forgetting their passports that morning.

"I'll be right back," Hannibal bent and kissed Will's head. Intimacy in public was easy for them now. Whatever shackles they'd once entertained, as Hannibal always insisted the chains of society were purely self-imposed, were now strewn somewhere with his lost morality. Friends and strangers a like knew they were together. Wedding invites flew in for the event in Italy; each day they'd receive another RSVP and notes of congratulations. Many of Hannibal's connections simply couldn't wait. Most of Will's small group of friends were surprised if not ecstatic. Beverly being the worst. She was meeting them there in Lithuania. When Will asked her to be one of the only witnesses at their small, un-official ceremony she jumped at the chance. In fact, he was sure she might have fought off everyone else in the BAU - Hunger Games' style -if need be.

"Everything is ordered. How are you feeling?" Hannibal returned and took his seat adjacent.

"I should ask you that, after this morning."

"I am fine. I just had the strangest sensation, as though I was being watched."

"Like, from inside our house?" Will cocked an eyebrow.

"No, from inside my ancestral home. I was walking the halls, but I could hear something following me," Hannibal's brow furrowed as he tried to remember. Empty stone corridors led to a towering staircase, made ever taller by the stretch of his imagination. "I could hear something in the master bedroom."

"You didn't walk in on your parents as a child, did you?"

"Nothing so vulgar," and Hannibal sat back in his chair. "I could hear a fire and see it's glow. There was someone in there." The thought of the intrusion caused him to shuffle.

"Maybe it was a memory?" Will tried to look at his partner's eyes. Everything of Hannibal lay buried deep in his so often guarded gaze.

"No. I thought I heard myself, or a different self, whispering something."

"That seems to upset you. What's so wrong about hearing yourself in the bedroom in your own home?"

Hannibal lifted his head to hold Will's gaze. There he saw how deep a wound was tearing in his memory. In an empathetic wave he felt the disgust, the sheer magnitude of bile that gathered in his throat at the mere mention - no, the mere thought - of a presence unlike his own residing in that house. Whatever crossed that barrier, the thought form that used his voice, was wholly held in disgust by Hannibal.

"In the house of Lecter, Will, very few pass the threshold into our being. Not all are welcome to visit where the family holds sacred. The master bedroom of my manor is one of these sacred places and has been for generations. The only people permitted within its walls are that of husband and first wife. No others."

"First wife?"

"Yes, a tradition bent on keeping family loyal. Any second partners or..." Hannibal's voice trailed off momentarily and came back harsh. "mistresses, were never allowed in this room. It was a sanctuary for the bond of marriage. The thought of someone being in there without permission is..."

"Rude?" Will smiled. "It was only a dream, Hannibal. I doubt anyone is in your house."

"Even in dreams, I find it violating. That room belongs to you and I now."

"Is that where we'll be staying?" Will lent back in his seat, swallowing a lump in his throat as he thought of what was waiting for them in Lithuania.

"Once the ceremony is done, yes. That room is for the married couple of the manor and once we are wed, recognized or not, I will make you every bit a Lecter as I. By nightfall this coming Friday, you will be past the point of no return. Together, till death do us part."

"Till death do us part," Will repeated and saw a looming castle against the backdrop of snow in his mind.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lithuania was cold. In fact, it was fucking freezing at -3 degrees Celsius. As they stepped off the very amicable first-class flight Will could feel the full force of nature hit him. 15 hours total, one stop, and countless minutes spent breathing the stale air of a cabin. He felt wrecked. Hannibal looked as though he'd spent it all in a comfortable hotel. No hint of jet lag, not even a tired gaze pressing out on the countryside. They were due to meet Katz at the Castle in around an hour so the moment they collected their bags they were off towards a taxi rank, or so Will thought. Arrivals was no were near as full as back in DC. Empty conveyor belts sat still with sleepy eyed attendants lent against walls. On leaving baggage claim the hall emptied into a small line held back by metal bars. Hollow eyed men stood with signs, one of which read 'Dr Lecter.' They followed the man on into a black BMV parked close by. He and Hannibal spoke briefly in Lithuanian, a mundane conversation Will was sure as he watched his partner's face twitch slightly - a sign he was getting bored. Itching to be done.

"The drive is about 40 minutes. Make yourself comfortable, my love."

Will passed a side wards glance to the driver. Hannibal seemed to catch it. "He can't speak English, not that I would hide anything for his sake," he suddenly held to Will's hand and placed a chaste kiss to his cheek. "I've come here to make you my husband, to claim you in front of all my family."

"So, I should expect a few spectres?"

"Maybe. It is an old place, Will. Generations of my family lived and died in its walls. I know our marriage, or our legal marriage at least, is in Italy - but I've brought you here for more than that spectacle. In Italy, I will claim you in front of our friends. Here, I will claim you in front of my family, all of them, disproving or not. I will make you a Lecter and you will have everything that comes with it."

At that their hands met again. They held each other’s gaze, lost in wild fantasies hidden by the rolling hills of the old country, watched from afar by descendants peaked in interest by earthly goings on. Lecter’s' from times gone by stood observing; eyeing what was to be the newest addition to their tree. Warmth seeped from their very bones. Eventually, the blood and the bone would merge. In life as in death, they would be together - as family. Vows would be spoken over hallowed ancestral ground and nights would be spent in a sacred chamber. It felt like an initiation. A leap into the world of Hannibal Lecter.

"Two more days," Will smiled. "Think our little shadow will try anything?"

"That's partly why we have Beverly."

"Not sure how Bev is going to be a distraction for someone as dedicated as Franklyn."

"No, but our Beverly is a very dedicated woman herself. I believe she may near on shoot someone getting in the way of this moment," Hannibal smirked at the idea of Franklyn splayed out in the family courtyard, his blood running down the cold stone.

"She might just, and then we wouldn't be in trouble either. Though..."

"What is it, Will?"

"Wouldn't it be more fun to kill him ourselves?" Will moved closer to whisper it in Hannibal's ear. It sent a shot of warmth straight to his groin.

"You wicked boy. Are you trying to tempt me?" Hannibal's hand moved gently from Will's knee to his upper thigh.

"I want to. I want us to kill together, make an offering to your family."

The eye contact they held was immeasurable; heat pooled in their stomachs as a heavy silence feel between them. Images of Franklyn gutted and displayed ran through their minds in tandem. A dark ritual deep in ancestral grounds. Nothing but the light of a pale moon on cold stone. Blood painting the flowers crimson in the night. Two souls forever bound by horror; complicit in their crime, damned by their own starving hands. It would be beautiful.

"We can't," Hannibal's eyes dropped to the floor. "It would be too suspicious with everything that has happened."

"Then," Will took his chin in his hands and forced the gaze upwards. "For a distant anniversary. I can wait, Hannibal. I'm willing to say till death do us part, there will be other times. Other nights."

The rest of the journey passed in near silence, their hands clasped tightly together.

Franklyn sat quietly in his middle seat. Economy class on two separate long-haul flights was a serious hit to his bank account but it was a needed expense. Wedged between a sweating business man in a blue suit and a woman falling asleep on his shoulder, he knew it would be worth it. Finally, he would get to see Lecter Castle. Two stewardesses pushed a rickety drinks trolley down the aisle. The wheels squeaked unhappily, and it reminded him of his Mothers’ shrill voice as he told her of his plans.

“Lithuania? Whatever for?”

She wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t. Never had a place so foreign to him felt so incredibly dear all at one time. Stone walls in a cold climate beckoned him home – even though it wasn’t his home. Pictures of Will entering the bed chamber as Hannibal led him by the hand flooded his mind. It made him bite his knuckle. That dream-like initiation in flame and red satin; shrouded in the dark shadows of the past whilst promising a decadent future, belonged to him. Deep in his very bones he could feel it.

He and Hannibal were dancing to the tune of destiny. Something monumental waited for him at the castle; something that was as fated as the stars burning themselves into oblivion. All his research had shown him the gem in the crown that was the Lecter’s ancestral home. Being a Lecter, having the right to claim that name, was part of a wild ecstasy that Franklyn was almost sure belonged to him. Hannibal was making a mistake giving it away. Will was the wrong person. It was like that film, The Swan Princess. Hannibal was going to declare his undying love for the wrong enchanted swan and Franklyn would feel himself die inside. All the things those two had done together: the dinners, outings, parties and even the sex. He could forgive it all so long as the castle was left untouched.

The flights passed by in a blur of crying babies and stale air. He planned his little excursion to be only an hour or so behind Hannibal’s flights. It pained him to admit that he was using nefarious means to track his love, but it was all in the name of sanity. What was a hacked email account in the grand view of a true connection? A few hundred dollars-worth of dirty money to a shady expert in the light of forever? Every sacrifice would be worth it.

So, he kept telling himself that as he was held at security for over an hour. Then he told it to himself again as his suitcase zip jammed in the process of retrieving a warmer coat, spilled its fabric guts over the dirty airport floor. Then he told himself one last time as he argued with a particularly hefty Lithuanian cab driver in broken English about the exact local of the castle. Everything would be worth it. Sat inside a cold cab he let his frozen fingers curl into his pocket. Skin touched the smooth laminated cold of a magazine photograph, folded neatly in half. Drawing it out, he unfolded it carefully like a precious relic and starred down. A picture of Hannibal in his youth – barely 19 and looking ever more dapper for it – stood in front of his ancestral home.

The hours of research to gain that gem was almost indescribable. Hannibal was accompanied by his late uncle and his wife, stood beside him like solemn statues. None were smiling. As though they would be so plebeian as to pose with a symbol of their status in such a way. Franklyn’s mind sunk below the levels of consciousness and bathed deeply in the waters of his imagination. The cold metal frame of the car faded into the big open plan of the master bedroom. Aromatic cedar wood floated on the air, accompanied by the orange glow of a roaring fire. He looked around for his love. The room was empty.

It didn’t bother him at first, Hannibal often appeared in due time. After all, it was their shared mind palace. Deep in Franklyn’s soul he knew that the real Hannibal could see this place too, feel it in his bones. When he dreamt, he would often leave things behind. First, an apple on the bedside table. Then ashes spread along the fireside wall. Finally, in one vivid encounter involving lace and leather, he carved his initials into a chair nearest the door. At their appointments he never mentioned the hot touches of flesh he shared with dream Hannibal. Never dared to put into words the tantalising sensation of merely occupying the Lecter master bedroom. Yet, he knew that Hannibal knew. Understood that a man so in tune with his past had no choice but to know, to sense the goings on in his own home – even if it was thousands of miles away.

That sent a shiver of pleasure shooting down his spine. The real Hannibal had always known how entwinned they were. Months of calm silences in therapy hid a deeper, more intimate knowledge. They knew each other’s flesh. They had devoured and been made whole by the bed chamber; as one they would emerge when Hannibal was ready. Though that was taking longer than Franklyn expected. The dreams began a mere month after their first meeting if that. What piercing desires ran through him, maddening him, were given no outlet but the sterile hour in which they spoke each week. Real Hannibal was ever the statue as he was in the photograph.

In his head, Franklyn looked around for the Hannibal he loved so well over the past few months. The one with a hot mouth and a longing gaze. Rising from the bed he felt a new uneasiness consume him. A feeling he never felt before in that room. All was deathly silent bar the crackling of the fire; dark shadows gathering in corners of the room like spiders huddling in fear. Underneath his feet the boards creaked with his weight, punctuating his every step towards the door. He had never opened it before. No light came from the slit at the bottom; the hallway would be dark. Skin met the cold metal of the handle. The old hinge groaned with the movement. Beyond the frame there was nothing to be seen. No hallway. No castle. Nothing.

“You finally found the door,” a familiar voice sounded far too close. Franklyn spun around and came face to face with Will Graham. This Will was different; tamed curls, a piercing look and nothing but a deep scarlet robe barely hiding his beautiful body. He blocked the entrance to bedroom, one hand on the door and the other on the frame – effectively trapping Franklyn with his back to the abyss.

“You,” Franklyn found himself breathless at the sight of him. Undoubtedly, Will was a lovely sort of man. The way his blue eyes gleamed in the firelight set a deep jealousy burning in his chest.

“This is my room now,” Will let a small smirk grace his lips. Franklyn started to retort when he noticed a hand appear around Will’s waist. His Hannibal was stood just behind, head casually coming to rest in the crook of Will’s neck where he kissed softly. It made him sick. Even his fantasies were becoming corrupted. In the moments it took him to lose focus, dream Will outstretched one cold hand and pushed him into the darkness. He watched as the bedroom flew from sight, leaving him tumbling down into emptiness until like a sudden flash, he came too in the back of the cab.

The inside was still cold. Lithuanian chatter buzzed from the radio and clattered into the back where it mixed with Franklyn’s already pounding headache. He didn’t know how long he slept. Most times it was impossible to tell. Some nights it would seem he was with Hannibal for hours, letting elaborate fantasies steal the seconds. Other nights paradise lasted only briefly. That Hell though; Will framed by the fire and the adoring eye of his fiancé, was all too real. In his very bones he could feel them inside the castle.

“How long till we get there?”

“Eh?” the driver peered back, his gaze empty.

“How long -,” Franklyn tapped his watch. “Till the castle?”

“Oh-eh, the castle?” the driver looked back to the road and threw his open palm into the air. “ 5 minutes. Outside gate, you want, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, outside the gate. The main gate on the north side.”

“You visit?” the driver looked at him through the rear-view mirror, one eyebrow cocked. “Not for tourists, you know? No walk around, no… no…., private. Owner.”

“I know,” Franklyn rolled his eyes. “I know the owner.”

“You know owner?”

“Yes.”

“Family?”

“Kind of,” Franklyn let his eyes settle on the wide-open fields outside the window.

“Kind of?” the driver’s voice was incredulous. “In law?”

“No…getting married,” he thought of the ceremony in the grounds as he said it. Replaced Will’s lithe figure with his own, imagining the sweet caress of Hannibal’s hand over his own.

“Oh! Married. Ha! Lecter getting married.”

“You know the Lecter’s?” Franklyn’s interest was piqued.

“Yeah, we know. Well, my wife know. Funny family. Rich. Only one now. He in America, you know?”

“Yes, he’s my friend.”

“Oh, good, good. He marry a man?” the driver turned his head to glance back at Franklyn just in time to catch the sudden jump. He smiled. “Me? I don’t care. Just heard. In small places people talk.”

“Yeah…yeah, he marry a man,” Franklyn let his brain go to autopilot. The community, though unknowingly, was already accepting Will as a Lecter. He couldn’t quite describe the feeling in his chest. A hand clamped around his heart; squeezing mercilessly till each drop of blood was emptied and he was left hollow. Will Graham was carving into him like a beast hungry for more. Each dream he stole, each fantasy, a tasty morsel strung from his ravenous teeth. Will Graham would eat him whole if he didn’t stop him.

They arrived at the castle no more than five minutes later. White powder dusted the gravel entrance and it crunched underneath his feet. Everything was still. He saw the faint glow of a light in one window, stretching his neck to see over the dying bushes.

“Well, well… the infamous cheese man,” an unknown voice came from just beyond the gate. A pretty woman dressed in a black coat emerged from beyond sight.

“Excuse me?”

“Franklyn, right? The one who likes all the cheese, and trying to bang the good Doctor?”

“How vulgar,” Franklyn scrunched his face and leant away.

“Heard you send some pretty pictures for a man so offended by vulgarity,” the woman smiled wide as she eyed Franklyn up and down. “What’s your business at Castle Lecter?”

“To see a friend, not that it’s any of your business.”

“Sorry, access denied. Private party tonight, by invite only,” Beverly Katz held her arms up in a giant cross and stuck her tongue into the cold air.

“I am invited, just ask Hannibal.”

“Was this really your plan? Just rock up to the entrance, pretend you were invited and then crash the party? I mean, did you not think Hannibal would have someone manning the door? There’s only 3 of us in here. How did you think we wouldn’t notice? Not like it’s a crowded venue.”

Franklyn took a step back and shuffled his weight between his two feet. As embarrassing as it was that was exactly what he expected. He knew they would most likely do the ceremony in the grounds, so his plan was to scale a wall, take cover and wait for the party to move outside. He hadn’t suspected Hannibal would catch on to his activities. Who would know the exact date without an invite? Though, he should have expected as much from someone as detailed as the Doctor.

“Fine. I’m here to stop the ceremony. You caught me. Now what?”

“Now turn around and go away. From what I’ve heard, the happy couple has given you enough warnings to sling your hook.”

“They’re making a mistake!” Franklyn dropped his luggage in favour of grabbing at the gate. “It’s not right!”

“Dude. I get it. You’ve got some mad crush on a man whose way out of your league and you’re holding on to this ridiculous fantasy, but that’s all it is. A fantasy. It’s not real. You can’t have a relationship with someone who doesn’t love you back.” 

“He does! He will! He just doesn’t understand right now.”

“And ruining his wedding will make him understand?” Katz raised one eyebrow and leant with her back against the fence. “Ruining his happiness will make him run to you?”

“It’s only a false happiness, it’s better in the long run if he just admits that now.”

“That’s real selfish for someone whose so desperately in love they’ll hack emails and take transatlantic flights.”

Franklyn stopped pawing at the gate to look properly at the woman blocking his way. Her eyes took on a far-off quality, misted over with grey.

“Love isn’t just about indulgence and getting everything you want. You’re supposed to consider the other person. What does it matter if you love Hannibal? You don’t even know him. I don’t think you do love him, you love the shape of him, the weird suit that he wears. But that’s not Hannibal. That’s what you see him as, what you want him as. Why would he want someone who only likes his suit, or his accent, or his home? Someone like that, is just like every other person he’s ever met.”

“What do you know?” Franklyn huffed.

“I know what Will tells me,” Katz stood up straight and turned to face the gate. “I know your towing the line of their patience.”

“I won’t let them be married.”

“I’d like to see you try and stop them,” Katz smirked as she pulled back her coat to reveal her concealed weapon. Franklyn shuffled back at the sight of it.

“You can’t use that! It can’t be legal!”

“Want to try me?”

Their stand-off drew out over a few seconds; Katz holding her hand over the gun and Franklyn slowly edging backwards. He could draw back, wait for the right moment and climb the fence. She wouldn’t be everywhere at once. There would be a metre of unwatched boundary. A minute of guard-free entry. It was all he needed.

“I’ll go.”

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inside the manor was like stepping into a macabre dreamscape. Hannibal was right when he recalled the intimate details of his old life clinging to the shell of the house like cobwebs. The dishes still sat on the table; toys strewn over the floor next to beds with unmade sheets gathered dust. Time had stopped here. Will saw in Hannibal’s tense face the beginnings of a strangled emotion. His chest rose and fell in slow, laborious breathes. His eyes glossed over, gleaming like the calm surface of a treacherous lake. Not so long ago this had been Hannibal’s entire world and now to see it, sat in a decay, a ruination, that drove through the centre of his heart the concrete reality of all he had once been and could never be again – it was all engulfing. The site of this crime was left undisturbed in Hannibal’s memory palace for good reason.

A quietness overtook them as they walked on. Only the cool, white light of the day peaked through heavy curtains. Everything not touched by its faint fingertips sat in darkness – chairs, tables and portraits hid threateningly just out of view, silently watching. The echoes of his footsteps carried on and upwards. Will was less sure of where he was going and took Hannibal’s lead. He asked no questions, made no noises, even held his breath very still as he watched Hannibal. The man was mesmerized; following a path, as though from a dream or a memory, gliding through the sunbeam caught dust towards a silent beacon. Yes, thought Will, he’s gliding. The movements were so fluid, so graceful they could only be from a man caught in some trance. Hannibal made no noise as he turned to the great staircase and gently, like a chance observer terrified of startling a deer, reached the top of the first flight to crane his neck as though listening.

Will watched his lover’s face soften. The muscles under his pale skin went slack and with the gentle glow of the world outside to frame him he seemed wholly celestial. Those thin lips stretched into an easeful smile; eyes still glossy. It was almost as though he were watching something – or someone, someone he had long since lost. There were few times in his life Will could remember seeing the Doctor quite so…soft. In those brief seconds Hannibal Lecter lost all pretense; he was human as he could be, all malleable flesh and unfathomable loss.

“ Hannibal…” the whisper escaped Will’s lips just as he watched the elder lean forward to walk off and up into the darkness of the upper floors.

“Will,” he blinked back like he forgot he wasn’t alone.

“You weren’t here.”

“I was… just, in a different here,” Hannibal gave once last glance to the upper floor before relenting and descending to where Will stood. “It has seen better times, but do you like it?”

“It’s particularly a castle. How important were your family?” Will gave a weak smile.

“We were… fairly more than socialites, just under royalty. Off shot nobles with a title that perhaps meant more then than now.”

Will took the moment to watch Hannibal’s face. Some of the rigidness returned in the form of his solid brow and hard eyes. The softness had retreated to whatever icy crevice of his heart in which it hid.

“So, will I be a Countess by the end of the night?” Will took Hannibal’s hand and smoothed the rough skin with his own calloused fingers.

“Yes, mielasis , to me you will be a Count.”

“But not to the government I won’t be. Shame. I’d have liked to shove that in Jack’s face next time he asks me to work late,” he bought Hannibal’s hand to his cheek and nestled into it’s warmth.

“Oh, how so?” Hannibal smiled at the gesture.

“You know, threaten him with the outrage of the people over how their beloved Count was being treated. Extend my noble influence. Claim diplomatic immunity… from getting up earlier than 7.”

They both let out a laugh that echoed around them. The fit ended as each took to starring at the other, eyes locked in a moment. Will came to recognize these moments as happiness. Strange, uninterrupted bouts of happiness.

“Get ready for the ceremony. After tonight Will, nothing separates us again.”

Hannibal used this to gently release himself from Will’s grip and slip away into one of the rooms to begin preparations. Will didn’t know much of what the ceremony would include, only that it was not legally binding in Lithuania. Whatever it would be he felt it would be binding beyond paper. He knew now more than any other point in his life that he stood upon a great precipice, and like a willing fool he would fling himself over into the dark waters of this love. As it filled his lungs he would rejoice and find comfort in his own drowning.

He followed the broken trail of a corridor into a room he’d earlier claimed as his for the evening. The master bedroom was not his to enter until after the ceremony. There everything was stored neatly; his suit for the evening was a fine black number made on Hannibal’s request. A tight polo neck replaced a shirt which was accompanied with a matching blazer and equally as unforgiving slacks. Then a single white rose for a boutonnière. All suspiciously simple in his mind’s eye, especially for Hannibal, whom he knew to enjoy the terribly grandiose and dramatic. Though he was sure there was more to it. There always was with Hannibal.

He didn’t know whether to expect a secret chamber, a room of ghosts, a blood sacrifice… or all three. Each decrepit room was filled to the brim with little oddities and Hannibal was being so secretive about the rite itself. He tried over the past weeks to be more involved. After the argument about the ‘proper’ wedding he made more of an effort not to be a ridiculous grouch. However, this affair was kept entirely hush hush. Hannibal made it seem as though it were some initiation, entirely secret until you were sat naked on a cold basement floor knee deep in goats’ blood and looking down the razor edge of a blade.

He threw the thought off and got into the very old shower. It was a ceramic bathtub with an attached showerhead that squealed in pain when he turned the tap. A few seconds passed as he heard old pipes groan with the effort. The house was a living, breathing entity. At any moment he felt that it could reject him, spit him back out onto the cold Lithuanian night and close its’ doors. He wasn’t spat out. Even though his mind raced with fantasies his wedding evening continued much the way he thought it would. He scrubbed at the dead skin with a sweet-scented concoction Hannibal bought. Then he washed and conditioned his hair. Before Hannibal, conditioner wasn’t something he used but he felt tonight of all nights he needed to be clean.

The cleaning took on a ritual purpose. Cleaning away everything from before Hannibal. The scars, the rank stench of others touching him and even his own neglect of his being. All of it went down the drain. An impulse made him shave his legs, the want of a clean slate drove him on as he stood at precarious angles trying not to fall. Once he was done, he stopped the shower and filled the bath. The old Will would call it wasteful. The new Will saw it as a luxury he deserved. Hannibal gave him quite the supply of toiletries for their trip, likely under the understanding that Will would take the opportunity to indulge to the upmost. The dense smell of Jasmine mingled in the damp air. Everything in the bathroom was now slick with condensation, water dripping down the off-white tiles and the single cabinet mirror.

Will knew he’d added too much when the bubbles threatened to spill over. Though, tonight he didn’t care. He lowered himself into the tub and let out a careless laugh as a small wave of bubbles crashed to the tile below. A pleasant heat rose through his skin, soothing his aching muscles. An outstretched hand grabbed the body wash; an entirely Hannibal-esque commodity complete with matte black body and gold inlaid writing that read ‘Jasmine, with a velveteen Sandalwood base’. He rolled his eyes hard before covering his hands in it and smoothing it all over his skin. It was much creamier than the earlier scrub. This was the most pampered he’d ever felt in his life. Any moment, he felt a servant might pop through the door and bow deeply before presenting him with a small flute of champagne and chocolate truffles all on a golden tray.

Again, it would all be very Hannibal. He lay his head back letting his damp curls stick to his skin. Soon, he’d meet Hannibal as his blushing bride. Primped and preened like he never was before he would walk into a new state of being. Though Will knew that metamorphosis began months ago. He rubbed his now smooth legs together and imagined how soft they’d feel in his wedding lingerie. A present to his dear new husband; a secret even Hannibal didn’t know. A few more minutes went past until he got out. Drying himself, he finished off with a generous helping of moisturizer and a thin dusting of Jasmine powder. It was the night to go all out.

He would be expected in the main foyer with the grand staircase at exactly 9. One more hour till showtime. Will used it wisely, styling his hair in soft curls parted slightly to the side. Then he took immense pride in getting into his new undergarments. When buying them he kept it rather…traditional. White lace kissed his pale skin as the garter belt was smoothed into place just over his hips, matching panties and stockings following soon after. Looking into the mirror he couldn’t help but smile as he slipped a single frilled garter onto his thigh. Utterly useless but he was sure it would suffice when Hannibal was pulling it off with his teeth.

Finally, he dressed hiding his delights for after the wedding. One ritual ended just in time for another to begin.


	10. The man who plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ay, so can you tell my school's closed yet?
> 
> The ceremony in Lithuania alongside Franklyn's futile attempts to get involved. Warning, Franklyn is mighty fucked after this chapter, and not in the good way. Enjoy the ceremony... finally! 
> 
> p.s. I mixed some Catholic and Pagan stuff because 1) I'm pagan and Hannibal gives me that vibe but 2) He'd 100% honor his recent family's Lithuanian Roman Catholic heritage.

The corridors were still dark as he made his way to the foyer. The pale early afternoon light had faded into black, leaving no real light source to be found but candles that suddenly appeared as Will was getting ready. They littered the hallways; tall, white with dripping wax that let off a soft orange glow. He could see them every few feet, mounted on walls and sat in dusty candelabras. It came to him to wonder who placed them. Surely Hannibal hadn’t had the time. His imagination bought forth ideas of a dower old maid shuffling silently about the manor. Not likely, he thought. The candles gave everything a hazy feel, dreamlike and distant, as though he were walking straight into the unknown. He was Alice behind the looking glass. Dante in his walk through the woods.

He followed the corridors still gripping in his hand the small Rue wreath Hannibal gave him. This ritual would not be legal, but it was going to be traditional. The yellow petals felt smooth between his fingertips. Will planned to put it on just before he reached the entrance. Fiddling with it he remembered Hannibal’s words.

“An old tradition, perhaps outdated, but it has a different meaning for us,” his voice deep. “I’m not so worried, Will, by the puritanical state of your…virginity.” Will had raised an eyebrow and smirked. “But this will be a beginning, an undoing; I will take something from you that you may never have back, as I’m sure you’ll take from me.”

Those words rattled in his skull. Hannibal didn’t elaborate on what he was going to take. Hannibal never elaborated on what he was going to take, that was half the fun for him. Will lifted the small wreath and sat it gently over his curls, trying desperately to make sure it wasn’t prickling. The last thing he wanted was to be adjusting the thing all night. It itched for a few seconds and then settled. He started to make out a bright glow at the entrance to the foyer, still soft and yellow but brighter than the scattered candles in the hall. A few steps closer and he was out past the point of no return.

It was overwhelming to his senses. Dozens of candles so precariously lit sat on every surface; on the desks pushed against the walls, alongside the bannister and in two tall candelabras flanking the grand staircase. The chandelier glistened with the yellow light, twinkling above like a cluster of stars against the faded darkness of the ceiling. Flowers and petals dotted the room. Great blooms of red roses and white chrysanthemums cascaded down the steps and forward to create a procession to the altar at the bottom step. Hannibal stood, flawless in a deep red suit the colour of blood. He was breath-taking. All sharp angles obscured by taut darkness. Silence permeated as Will took his first steps towards him.

The set up was entirely pagan in its rites. A small wooden table held a clay cup, a white rope, one sharpened knife and a plate of bread. There was a man who Will assumed to be a priest; he wore the collar and the fine purple sash. Though his face seemed worn, a pink scar etched across the middle of his face stretching from one check to the other. His eyes were half lidded and appeared black in the dim light. As Will reached the altar and turned to Hannibal the priest spoke quietly in Lithuanian. Hannibal nodded in reply.

“Then we begin,” the priest spoke with a heavy accent and clapped his hands together suddenly. It echoed through the empty house.

“In the name of the father, the son and the holy spirit,” he crossed himself. “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all.”

“And with your spirit,” Hannibal’s lips moved but Will barely heard it. Instead, he made out the high pitches of a woman’s voice. He focused just beyond his groom to see Beverly, half shrouded in the shadows, smiling and standing silent witness.

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of good will. We praise you; we bless you; we adore you; we glorify you; we give you thanks for your great glory, Lord God, heavenly King, O God, almighty Father. Lord Jesus Christ, Only Begotten Son, Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.”

Will lost himself in starring at Hannibal. He could gather as much as it was all Catholic, which was what he expected. The words of the prayer washed over him as a gentle wave carrying him out further to sea. Hannibal was still but a small affectionate smile played on his lips.

The priest put his hands together and announced, “Let us pray.” All of them followed suit.

“Be attentive to our prayers, O Lord, and in your kindness, pour out your grace on these your servants, Hannibal and William; that, coming together before your altar, they may be confirmed in love for one another. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.”

“Amen,” this time Will joined in with the chorus.

“Here the couple asks for the liturgy of the word in accordance with the prophet Jeremiah. _I have loved you with everlasting love and I am constant in my affection for you.” _The priest continued. Hannibal took Will’s hands and squeezed. It was a pleasant grounding when all Will’s head was swimming with words. This being the ‘unofficial’ day they hadn’t practiced. He felt almost ambushed by its sheer authority. In his head he knew there was going to be an officiate, but he always saved the idea of a full ceremony for the wedding in Italy.

_“When you seek with all your heart, I will be found by you. The word of the Lord.”_

“Thanks be to God,” Hannibal said it with such ease, as though the religious came to him so naturally. Even the Gospel acclamation he recited smoothly. He smirked as Will fumbled over words, trying in earnest to copy Hannibal’s answers.

“Now to the rite. Dear children of God, you have come today to pledge your love before God and before the Church here present today in the person of the priest, your families and friends. In becoming husbands, you give yourselves to each other for life. You promise to be true and faithful, to support and cherish each other until death, so that your years together will be the living out in love of the pledge you now make. Have you come here of your own free will and choice and without compulsion to marry each other?”

“We have,” both answered simultaneously. This part Hannibal did warn him about.

“Will you love and honour each other in marriage all the days of your life?”

“We will.”

“Are you willing to forgo all else but for the love that you share?”

“We are.”

The priest gave a short smile, smug in nature, then bowed his head to pour wine into the clay cup in front of him. Will didn’t break eye contact with Hannibal as the room lay silent for a few seconds. His eyes were dark, but his face was so soft. Almost as soft as that afternoon on the stairs.

“I invite you to declare before God and his Church your consent to become husband and husband,” the priest lifted the rope and began to wrap it around Hannibal’s wrists. “Hannibal Lecter, do you take William Graham, as your husband for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, all the days of your life?”

“Kol mirtis mus isskirs, I do.”

Again, the priest smiled with his thin lips and turned to Will. “and William Graham, do you take Hannibal Lecter, as your husband for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, all the days of your life?”

Will paused just a moment, searching in his memory for all the times he heard Hannibal speak Lithuanian. Hannibal’s breathing seemed to stop. He waited silently tortured that Will, upon the precipice of his becoming, would stand to make one last fight.

“Till death do us part, I do,” Will’s voice was barely a whisper but in an instant Hannibal’s muscles relaxed and his shoulders fell. He worried for nothing. Will jumped willingly into dark waters.

“What God joins together man must not separate. May the Lord confirm the consent you have given and enrich you with his blessing,” the priest looped the final length of rope around Will’s wrists and loosely knotted everything together. “ Let your word be your bond, you may kiss.”

They leant together slowly, aware that their arms were now locked in place. For them the kiss was chaste though it was no peck. Hannibal’s plump lips pressed into his own with a quiet vigour. There were promises in that touch, secrets and delights hidden in its sensual brevity. He caught Bev’s eye long enough to see her wiggle her eyebrows. It made him let out a single wave of laughter, peering chastely up into Hannibal’s eyes to know how adoringly he watched him.

“The rings, if you please,” the priest held out his hand to Hannibal and was obliged with two white gold rings. “Almighty God bless these rings, symbols of faithfulness and unbroken love. May Hannibal and William always be true to each other, may they be one in heart and mind, may they be united in love forever. Through Christ our Lord.”

“Amen,” again Hannibal beat Will too it and let out a fond smile as he was handed a ring from the priest. “William, wear this ring as a sign of our faithful love. Know you are mine and mine alone.” He slipped the ring onto Will’s finger and then held out his own hand.

“Hannibal wear this ring as a sign of our faithful love. Know you are mine and mine alone,” Will reciprocated the gesture and fitted Hannibal’s ring.

“Now the prayer of the newly married couple.”

Will tensed under the spotlight. He knew this prayer; he’d practiced it almost daily in the lead up. Still he thought his nerves would get the better of him, even if it was only in front of 3 other people. He felt slightly sick thinking of doing it in front of 50 or so more in Italy. Suddenly, he felt a squeeze on his hands. Hannibal was still smiling at him. He gave a little nod and they carried on in unison.

“We thank you, Lord, and we praise you for bringing us to this happy day. You have given us to each other. Now, together, we give ourselves to you. We ask you, Lord: make us one in your love; keep us one in your peace. Protect our marriage. Bless our home. Make us gentle. Keep us faithful. And when life is over unite us again where parting is no more in the kingdom of your love. There we will praise you in the happiness and peace of our eternal home. Amen.”

Bev snuck her phone out from her pocket and pressed record quickly. Afterall, she thought they might like a little memento. There was no wedding photographer here. Which was a shame considering how beautiful everything looked. She made sure to take just a few snaps too for good luck. At the end she wanted to sneak round to the front and play her hand at being photographer. A few glamour shots for the memory book; or the blackmail Graham bank. Whichever one came first. He looked adorable in his little flower crown; a detail she was sure would go down a storm back in the lab. Just as she was snapping a quick picture of the grooms completely entranced, she noticed something. In the top hand left corner of her photo there was a face.

Normally, it might have freaked her out a little but tonight she had a good idea who that face might be. She shuffled forward silently trying not to disturb the ceremony. Finally, she made out the red face of a desperate little cheese man who was most likely clinging to some decaying plant lattice outside. He didn’t seem to notice her. He was entirely transfixed on boring holes into the back of Will’s head with his gaze. A futile activity considering Will had yet to notice. Bev slipped out the side door and away to do her real job.

“Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation, for through your goodness we have received the bread we offer you: fruit of the earth and work of human hands, it will become for us the bread of life,” the priest then salted the bread and tore it in three. “One for the Lord, one for the ancestors and one for the joined couple. May you never hunger,” and he placed a torn piece into Hannibal’s mouth and then another into Will’s.

“Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation, for through your goodness we have received the wine we offer you: fruit of the vine and work of human hands, it will become our spiritual drink,” he raised the cup. “Enough for the Lord, for the ancestors and for the joined couple. May you never thirst.”

He held the small cup to the pair’s lips and allowed each a sip. Then he turned to a small bowl of water still held on the altar to wash his hands.

“Wash me, O Lord, from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin. Pray, brothers and sisters, that my sacrifice and yours may be acceptable to God, the Almighty Father.”

“May the Lord accept the sacrifice at your hands for the praise and glory of His name, for our good, and the good of all His holy Church,” Hannibal answered perfectly on cue.

As the Lord’s prayer began Franklyn was still watching outside. It was all driving him to madness. How beautiful Will looked, lips softly parted and the rue wreath sat in his delicate curls. The particularly adoring gaze which never left Hannibal’s face once through out the ceremony. It was all sickening. Disgustingly, unforgivably sickening. Not to mention the pure audacity of such a spectacle. None of this was even legally binding so why a Catholic priest was there was quite beyond him. He’d expected something more unique in nature. However, he couldn’t deny the effort in the decoration, the pure and unbridled pageantry in all aspects of Hannibal’s love. He swooned at the sheer force of romance that seeped from every corner. The candles, the roses, the white gold rings shining in the twinkling light; he wanted them all.

“You’re a real weirdo, you know that,” Franklyn looked down to see Agent Katz looking up at him.

“Go away! I’m not hurting anyone,” he shouted back and regretted it, looking inside to check he hadn’t been heard.

“No, just trespassing…and being a creep. Unfortunately, I can’t arrest you for that.”

“You can’t arrest me full stop, you’re not a cop here,” he tried to keep his voice low so not to disturb the ceremony.

“What’s your plan up there, anyway? Gonna tap on the window real hard?”

“I’m just waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Bev leant against the manor wall and sighed. “Not trying to do the whole ‘I object’ thing are we?”

Franklyn held back a harsh remark and simply gave her a sneer. That’s exactly what he was waiting for. He hoped it wouldn’t come to this, that it would be his absolute last resort if he couldn’t make them break up, but it was now or never. His attempts at sabotaging them never worked. In fact, in a few instances he pushed them closer together. Plus, it was better to do it now than at the public wedding. That way it wouldn’t be so embarrassing for Hannibal who he was sure would be mortified if all his wider friends should see someone having such a violent reaction to the wedding. He never wanted to do that to Hannibal. Though he’d be lying to say he hadn’t dreamt of cussing Will out in public, in front of everyone, and stealing Hannibal away like some lovesick Lothario.

“You know that line doesn’t get asked at Catholic weddings?”

“What?” Franklyn blinked back.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace? That’s not Catholic. The priest isn’t going to hand you your big lead in moment.”

Franklyn’s jaw went slack and his mouth hung open just a little. In all his preparations for the trip he’d overlooked the fact that he didn’t know what this ceremony would be like. He assumed it would be standard, especially once he saw the priest.

“Oh my God, you really are an idiot, aren’t you?” Bev stood straight and pulled a gun from her holster which was hidden just behind her jacket.

“You can’t shoot me!” Franklyn whimpered, flailing his arms and accidentally releasing the place he held on the wall. He fell with a thump down onto the snowy ground. Crying out he grabbed his ankle “Oh God, I think it’s broken!”

Beverly rolled her eyes and re-holstered her gun. “You are the worst stalker I’ve ever seen.”

Inside the sounds of ‘Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us’ were chanted. The combined voices mingled and floated on the open air. It was almost over; soon the religious rite would be done, and the festivities would begin. Beverley wanted to hurry and catch the end since most of what came afterwards was purely for the grooms.

“If you’ve broken your ankle, I’m not taking you to a hospital,” she bent down to look at the injury and gave it a small squeeze. Franklyn let out cries of protest akin to a child sobbing. “Looks twisted. You’ll be fine.”

“Fine?” Franklyn almost shouted. “I won’t be _fine. _Not until that ceremony is stopped.”

“God, it’s like you’re possessed.”

“Haven’t you ever loved someone? I _need_ to be here. I’m _meant_ to be here. This place has been calling to me!” Franklyn’s face was feverish; blotchy red and eyes glazed over. Beverly wondered if he was looking at her or through her.

“You sound like you’ve hit your head, either that or you need some serious medical help. Come on, let’s get you inside. Hannibal had a plan for if you made an appearance,” Bev tried to help him up and struggled under his weight.

“Hannibal made a plan? He knew I’d be here. He knew I still cared for him. Hannibal is so kind,” Franklyn went off into a fantasy world behind his closed eyelids. Pleasantly unaware of the type of plan Hannibal had made.

Back in the foyer the concluding rites were being read. Small prayers littered with joint calls of amen punctuated the dark room. Still the two were bound by their hands and Will took strongly to the feeling that even when the ropes were removed, they would not be truly free of each other. The heat from the candles was starting to cause a pink hue on his cheeks, a burning he could feel in his very soul. Hannibal inspected his face. The rough, bearded chin of a man and the soft blue eyes of a boy. He adored Will’s face, and he would adore it even more in the coming night.

“Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.”

“Thanks be to God,” both answered one last time. The priest then took the knife and cut the rope by which they were bond. He handed it to Will and with a cunning look in his eye whispered “No knife will save you now.”

The priest turned to Hannibal with a sly smile that he returned in earnest. Without the praying and the chanting everything seemed empty but for the candles glow. Then he felt a hand on his back. Will was being led away from the altar by Hannibal. They stayed in silence as they passed through narrow corridors and old doors that hung on hinges. He trusted the warm hand at his back. He even pulled closer into Hannibal’s side sliding his own hand around Hannibal’s waist. A minute passed until they were in front of a large wooden door that still had the remnants of red paint clinging to it. Hannibal drew a large iron key from his inner pocket and placed it in the lock before pushing the door wide open.

There were no lights inside. The candles weren’t set up and the only visible light source was the moonlight through one grand window. It cast pale moonbeams over shelves, illuminating the dust dancing in the air. Hannibal gestured for Will to step inside and he followed. There was a mezzanine level, much like Hannibal’s office in Baltimore, but most of it was too dark to make out. The wood creaked under his weight, tired with age and wear. Following the dim trail of what he could see he made out the outlines of a book sat on a stand.

It was separate from the rest; lying quietly closed atop a carved wooden pedestal. Hannibal approached it first. He opened it to the last used page.

“My parents’ signatures,” Hannibal ghosted his fingertips over the dried ink. Will held out his hand and took Hannibal’s in his own, lacing their fingers together.

“There’s so many,” Will looked over the page.

“Every Lecter. Now us.”

“You want me to sign this?”

“Yes, I said every Lecter. You’re one of us now.”

“That sounds like a threat,” he smiled deeply and put his arms around Hannibal to embrace him. He’d never felt so comfortable.

“No threat. This is your home, William Lecter,” he whispered it slowly into the shell of his partner’s ear, letting the hot breath ghost his sensitive skin. Will was loathed to admit that it made blood pool in his cock. He didn’t remember being this horny all the time before Hannibal.

“Oh, what if I wanted you to be Dr Hannibal Graham?” he lifted his head from its place at Hannibal’s shoulder and gave an innocent look.

“My dear,” Hannibal dipped Will back ever so slightly to expose his throat. “It’s far too late to negotiate now. You’re mine.” Hannibal pressed his hungry lips into Will’s neck, lavishing it with hot kisses then baring teeth against yielding flesh. Will let out a high-pitched whine and it only served to encourage him. He bit, harder and harder, until he tasted the metal tang of blood. The warmth of it satiated a hunger as one ear close to Will’s skin kept track of the thundering thrum of his heart. Soft, wanton noises poured from Will, half purposeful, half instinctual in his pleasure. There would be a mark. He wanted there to be a mark.

Hannibal pulled his mouth away to reveal his teeth stained in blood. His chest was heaving as he held Will’s gaze. They were lost again; prisoners to the liminal spaces only they could share. One of them lurched forward, and in times future they couldn’t remember who, just the result of clashing teeth and lip biting. Warm, wet tongues slipped into waiting crevices; stunted moans echoing in the darkness, mingling with the silence. They parted reluctantly. Hannibal’s hand fell to the pen on the pedestal and brought the nib to rest gently against Will’s bite mark.

“We’re not signing a deal with the devil,” Will looked dubiously at the pen.

“Well, _I’m_ not,” Hannibal smiled in return. Once the pen had enough blood to make a mark, he moved it down onto the page and signed in perfect cursive. Then he handed the pen to his husband, undid the knot of his tie and the first few buttons of shirt. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do the next part yourself.”

“Do you want to see my teeth, Dr Lecter?”

“I’d like to feel them, Mr Lecter.”

Hannibal tapped the skin just above his jugular and Will would be lying to say he didn’t feel a hunger for it. He leant in close taking his time. Brining his lips to gently touch the flesh of Hannibal’s throat he lingered unwavering. It smelt of bergamot and green tea; he could feel the beating of the artery, hear the blood rushing. He held for a few more seconds. The tease was half of his long drawn out charm, and oh how it could drive Hannibal mad – drive his sense to absolute agony in the waiting, how long he had waited for Will. So, he could wait just a little more than that. Just a little more so Will could have his fun. Until even Will’s resolve would fail, hungry himself for more. Until there was a bloodlust too strong. Till he wanted it. He bit down hard.

The sensation of Hannibal squirming, even just a little, made his cock stiffen. He grabbed his husband’s hips with a bruising strength and thrusted his slightly smaller frame into him, moulding them together. He rubbed his clothed erection into Hannibal and earned a strangled groan. It echoed beautifully into the dark. Will wanted all his new family to hear; to hear how much control he really had over the great Hannibal Lecter. By the time he finished his bite the skin around the teeth marks was raised and dribbling blood.

“Quite the exhibitionist tonight,” Hannibal glanced at Will’s work.

“You asked to feel them.”

“I did.”

“Now, stay still,” Will took the pen in his hands and placed it against the thin trickles of blood threatening to ruin Hannibal’s shirt. It was enough to write his name, though no where near as beautifully as Hannibal’s. The colour of the ink was still a hardy black, but they would live with the knowledge of what was mixed there. When it was done Will lay down the pen and his hands returned to their place at Hannibal’s hips.

“What now?”

“Now, there are a few more traditions we’ve yet to fulfil.”

Will furrowed his brow and put his hands on the wreath. “Don’t we need to burn this?”

“Not yet, I have a surprise first.”

“Let me guess. There’s a goat in the basement you want me to sacrifice.”

“Almost,” Hannibal flashed his teeth. “I believe you will be pleasantly surprised.”

“That’s a dangerous phrase coming from you,” Will let himself be led away from the library with Hannibal’s hand comfortably set in the small of his back. As they left, he glanced over his shoulder, catching the final slithers of moonlight shining on the floor. A faint outline stood by the book; small, child-like and gone in an instant. He let Hannibal lead him away and spoke nothing of it.

The rest of the house was still mainly lit by candles, the dark hallways turning into dim rooms seen only by the glow from distant corridors. They went down a flight of stairs and into a dark, stone room. The light was left behind him and Will followed more by the touch of the walls. They were damp with the cold but there was a breeze to be felt. That meant there was a vent somewhere. Finally, a light could be seen ahead. It peered through a large doorway where two distinct voices were squabbling.

“I want to see Hannibal!” a high, panicked voice demanded.

“He gets here when he gets here,” Will would recognise Bev anywhere. They walked in and saw Franklyn sat precariously on a folded chair shuffling uncomfortably in the middle of the room. On seeing Hannibal his plump little face lit up, eyes going wide and fidgeting fingers reaching out.

“Hannibal!” he cheered. “I came to celebrate your wedding. I was trying to explain to Miss Katz here that I’m a guest.”

His whole figure sank back as he saw Will. He regarded his rival with a curt nod and dropped the smile. For such an enthusiastic guest, he certainly lost gusto on seeing the groom.

“Guests don’t climb the building,” Bev sighed and tied her hair back. “Caught him starring through the windows by the main staircase, looking like a ghoul in the wedding photos.”

“Well, I’d have been inside like a normal guest if _someone_ had invited me in!”

“I’ll invite my boot up your ass if you don’t stop.”

“Now, Miss Katz that won’t be necessary,” Hannibal stepped forward. “Mr Froideveaux only wanted to be here on our most joyous night.”

Franklyn’s smile came back at full force. “Exactly, I was here to celebrate as one of Hannibal’s friends. I wanted to give the groom a gift.”

He put his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a purple box wrapped in ribbon. Unexpectedly it was thrust in Will’s direction. The married pair glanced at one another, Hannibal’s gaze glinting with a little mirth. The box was no bigger than the length of Will’s hand and fairly narrow. He might have mistaken it for a necklace if he didn’t know better. He took it gently from Franklyn’s hand then watched the man flash him a toothy grin. It was definitely a joke gift, but he didn’t know of what kind. Maybe it _was_ a necklace, or a decorative spoon, or one long stick of cheese.

Will pulled on the ribbon and opened it fully. Hannibal raised an eyebrow as he held back a chortle. A shining linoleum knife sat in tissue paper.

“A knife. You got me, a knife for my wedding?” Will looked up.

“A cheese knife. I thought since now Hannibal will be adding a bit of culture to your palette you might appreciate it.”

“Isn’t giving a bride a knife bad luck?” Bev cut in.

“No!” Franklyn swivelled his fat body round to peer at her. “It’s a cultural gift.”

“It’s very thoughtful,” Hannibal took the knife in hand to inspect. “Such a fine blade too. You must have put such effort into finding a lovely gift.”

Will watched from the corner of his eye, scanning the toothy smile and lazy gaze on Hannibal’s face. This was not the attitude he expected. Their eyes met before Hannibal gently put the knife into Will’s hands.

“Feel it, Mr Lecter. Isn’t it so light for a fine blade?”

Will did feel it; the firm grip of the wooden handle and the glinting of the blade in the low light. He looked back to Hannibal and knew almost instantly.

“Yes, I love it Franklyn. Thank you,” he didn’t recognise his own voice it came out so sickly sweet. Then he put his arm around Hannibal’s waist and squeezed tightly into his chest. Franklyn inched forward on his chair; eyes transfixed on the hand that was circling fingertips on Hannibal’s hip.

“You’re taking this all very well,” Bev said.

“The ceremony is over and I’m afraid the next part is for the couple only. Beverly would you please escort my friend here outside. I have a car prepared.”

“Oh, but I missed some of the ceremony. Isn’t there any chance you’re having an evening event? I’m to understand Lithuanian’s have a party.”

“Unfortunately, as this was a small gathering, we have no such party planned. We will all see you up to the gates, Franklyn. I do hope you’ve enjoyed your visit to Lecter Manor.” Hannibal gestured for Franklyn to stand and like a devout puppy the man stood to follow his lead. All four took their leave, ascending back up the dark stairs and emerging in one of the dim corridors along the way. The newlyweds held to each other followed closely by Franklyn. He was so close Will could feel hot breath on the back of his neck. One glance backwards revealed the hard stare that threatened to bore through the back of his head.

To Will it seemed the walk back up took longer than on the way down. Though he knew it was most likely Franklyn. He felt Hannibal squeeze gently on his arm. Hidden in the dark he squeezed back but avoided looking at him. Something was at play. Whether Beverly knew or not, or whether Franklyn knew or not, there was something. As they worked their way through the manor they passed into the foyer with the grand staircase. The priest was still clearing away, wiping down the wooden table and blowing out the candles.

“Father,” Hannibal bowed his head slightly. The priest gave no verbal answer and instead nodded his head in return. The foyer was much darker with so many of the candles out; the dripping wax dried on the bannisters, reaching down like long pale fingers. It still smelt like fresh flowers. The petals scattered along the floor became swept up by their feet. Then Hannibal outstretched a nimble hand to pluck one rose and passed it to Will. He took it between his fingers, careful not to touch the thorns.

“Do you like your flowers, mielasis?”

“A pretty combination,” Will looked back to the white chrysanthemums placed around.

“Roses were such a romantic choice!” Franklyn loudly chimed in from just behind, pushing his way forward a little to separate the couple. Hannibal was unfazed but Will tilted his head to the other side.

“I do crave a certain aesthetic in all I do. Candlelight makes any flower soft, brings out their natural tenderness.”

“I agree,” Franklyn held his chin up higher and brought his left hand to point back at the foyer. “A fantastic arrangement. The red and the white symbolising the innocence and the passion of a marriage. A tell-tale sign of romance…”

“The chrysanthemums are for funerals,” Will’s voice cut through like a knife. His eyes rested on Hannibal’s gaze, seeing there an inward smile. Franklyn paused a moment with his mouth ajar like a fish.

“Well commonly, but they have many purposes. I’m sure Hannibal wouldn’t…”

“All new unions are funerals, funerals for what came before. Your old life came here to die, Will,” Hannibal kept his lazy smirk as they reached the front door and he flung it open to let in the cold night air. Franklyn was speechless. His romantic ramblings were stopped in their tracks. Will, by-the-by, was more than amused.

“So, you put my funeral and my wedding in one? How efficient,” Will looked out into the night.

“Love is surrender, mielasis. I have given up to you as much as you have given to me,”

“It was a joint funeral?”

“As long as we share the coffin,” Hannibal outstretched his hand to Will who took it promptly and left Franklyn stood just in the doorway.

“I can’t tell if you two are just that_ edgy_ or I’m in hell and reliving high school,” Beverly pushed Franklyn forward into the outside before closing the door. “100% it was a wedding not a funeral, or at least the part I was watching.”

“Sorry Bev. We just like to tease each other,” Will shrugged. Franklyn was still utterly speechless, more so for the fact that Will had noticed something he hadn’t. It burnt him completely whenever Graham proved his worth. Then it hit him. Will wasn’t ‘Graham’ anymore. He was a Lecter. Not legally, but certainly in the mind of the one person who mattered; Hannibal. He felt a dire tug in his breast; his heart was damaged beyond reprieve. Tonight, Will would enjoy the chamber of his dreams and the man of his greatest desires. This lithe nymph with chocolate curls succeeded in tempting away the singular most important man of his life. He looked to Will to scrutiny him. His pale complexion looked unmarred in the pale moonlight. His form so soft in the presence of the wreath on his head, so boyish and delicate. Yes, he was the image of a temptress.

“Franklyn, a car is here to take you back to your accommodation. I assume you have a bed and breakfast in the local town,” Hannibal turned to view him.

“Y…Yes I have lodgings just down past the hill.”

“Excellent, the taxi driver is Lithuanian, but he speaks enough English. I will tell him the town if you later tell him the place.”

“Of course, I’m so disappointed I couldn’t stay longer.”

“No worries, Franklyn,” Hannibal edged in closer to him and slipped one delicate hand to his right shoulder, effectively herding him towards a car waiting at the gates. “There is plenty of nightlife in town. Perhaps a drink on our behalf?”

“Or you know, a stay in a psych ward,” Bev whispered to Will. It went largely unnoticed as Franklyn became entranced by Hannibal’s soft features so close to his own. He was so calming, so gentle. This was the Hannibal he had long dreamt of; soothing him with touches, purposeful and strong. The way Hannibal looked at him he knew there was a longing there as well. Franklyn would not be deterred.

“Yes, I’ll have a drink for you tonight!” the eager little man replied.

“Yes, I’m sure the driver could take you somewhere but be sensible. I assume this is your first visit to Lithuanian, we wouldn’t want it to be your last,” Hannibal’s thin lips spread into a smile.

Will knew the expression well; it was far less a comforting thing as a sign of triumph. All was as according to plan. Whatever that plan was. He didn’t often like to admit that Hannibal was less readable to him than others. Empathetically the man was an enigma. The start of their courtship was marred by Will’s frustration in seeming unresponsiveness of Hannibal’s emotions. In time, he saw them for what they were. Vacant where they should be deep, unfathomable were others were shallow. He was an ocean; the depths dark as they were unknown, the only way to know them being to drown.

“I’d like to see you both tomorrow!” Franklyn’s hand grasped to Hannibal’s lapel as he took his seat in the car. “I’d like to have a drink with you both.”

“Tomorrow, Franklyn,” and Hannibal removed the offending hand. “Tomorrow.”

Quickly, he shut the car door and leant to the passenger side window to mouth something at the driver. It was undistinguishable to all but the two of them. Then the car took off and from the back seat the unnerving eyes of Franklyn could be seen starring until they disappeared.

“What a creepy little man,” Bev sighed.

“Creepy indeed,” Hannibal smiled. “None the less we must entertain him until we can get him back to the States. There I will put in a call to the hospital and suggest he may need further consultations. He is becoming a danger to himself and others.”

“I think that ship sailed, he’s following us across continents.”

“Patience, mielasis. Here neither of you have the authority to arrest him and though I’m known in the area I wouldn’t wish the mental health system of my country on anyone.”

“Like it’s better in the States,” Bev rolled her shoulders. “At least he has family back home, but what if he makes a move tonight? I caught him clinging to a wall, watching Will like he wanted to put a bullet through your head. No guarantee he won’t come back.”

“Then I’m afraid I must ask you to go out of your way to protect us. Please, stay on the property tonight. I’ve had a bedroom prepared for you in the event something like this happened. You have your firearm?”

“It’s here. Not sure how much of a right to shoot it I have but push comes to shove,” Bev lifted the offending gun from it’s holster and pulled her lips into a thin grimace.

“If they let you bring it, they have to be under some understanding you might shoot it,” Will said.

All three retreated back into the warmth of the manor. They found themselves in the kitchen where Hannibal promptly convinced them to try a vintage wine. Supposedly kept in the family cellar since he was boy, it had a thorough vetting before being poured into three glasses. The rest of the evening was mainly pleasantries; they chatted about the wedding in Italy, played a few rounds of cards and indulged in a quick evening snack that Hannibal himself prepared. Time flew on and it wasn’t until Beverly mentioned that he was still wearing the wreath that Will even noticed. It remained put for the rest of the evening.

“You look good in a flower crown,” Bev laughed hardily, tipping her chair back and threatening to topple over. She didn’t but Will gave her an extra shove just for good measure. They did everything by the glow of three tall candles in old bottles, shadows dancing as the flames flickered. By the time their conversations came to an end the table was full of dripping wax.

“I think it’s time for bed,” Will yawned.

“Yeah right,” Bev elbowed him in the ribs a little too hard. “It’s your wedding night. I can take a hint.” She winked at them both and stood, if not a little uneasily, to make her way out the door.

“You definitely don’t know where you’re going.”

“I know where I’m going.”

“That’s quite the feat, Miss Katz. As I have not told you which room is yours yet,” Hannibal stood with a chuckle and placed the wine back in it’s place. A quick tidy up of the area and they were off, navigating the dark corridors again. The place was eerily quiet but also much more sinister with the candles all dowsed and nothing to go on, but the single light Hannibal carried.

“You know, I have a torch on my phone. We all have torches on our phones,” Bev slurred her words a little and Will laughed.

“Hannibal likes to be dramatic.”

“And you don’t?” his husband shot back.

“Not as much as you,” Will playfully dug his fingers into Hannibal’s sides eliciting a quick glare.

“I enjoy the aesthetic. Besides, your room is just here Beverly,” he stopped outside a very ornate looking door with a brass handle. They all took note of the long spiralling staircase just to the right. “This is the only staircase that leads up into the master bedroom where Will and I will spend the night. Hopefully, if our little shadow returns, he will have to bumble straight past your door.”

“What if he tried to climb it outside?” she twisted her head to look up the long dark staircase. She couldn’t make out anything past the first few steps.

“The window for the master bedroom is around 6 metres in the air. At that point, I don’t think we’d need your services…”

“Because we could just shove him back down,” Will smirked.

“Right, right,” Bev chuckled. “Shout me if you hear anything, otherwise enjoy yourselves.”

She opened the door and gave Will one last eyebrow wiggle before shutting it firmly behind herself. They heard a few bumps as she fumbled for the bed, then a groan as she almost inevitably hit some furniture in the dark. Finally, it went silent. Hannibal lifted his hand to Will, and he took it, eager for what was to happen next. They began to climb the staircase slowly. Will followed his husband’s lead almost step by step until he was stopped by a firm hand to his chest. He turned to find Hannibal with his finger to his lips. He continued stepping, let the movement imitate climbing higher until he slowed the pace – the gentle clacking sound drifting off as though further away. At last, Hannibal dowsed his light and they stood in the darkness.

They didn’t move for a whole minute; careful to ensure Bev didn’t catch them in their game. Hannibal motioned for Will to step back to hug the wall and tip toe quietly along the aged wood. He followed shortly after, oddly deft in his loud dress shoes. Next, Hannibal gave the silent instruction to take the path furthest from Bev’s door. Will slithered to the wall and took cautious steps. Once past the imminent danger he was escorted through darkness, down the stairs of the manor and round to the back door. It was an old, battered looking thing. Will thought he could give it a kick and it might give in but on placing his hand to it knew it was more solid. Worn though it was it still likely weighed a ton. Hannibal produced a key and again held his finger to his lips.

The key turned with a loud clunk. Both turned into the darkness of the house and listened. A minute past but they heard nothing. Will knew Bev could be a bloodhound for these sorts of things, but she was drunk enough. The hinges creaked as Hannibal opened the door carefully, the nights air hitting him in the face full blast. Ever prepared he pulled both their coats from seemingly nowhere. He was prepared for this – it was all part of the plan. They dressed quickly and left, closing the door with the greatest care until it shut tight. The walk out into the grounds was brisk; Will held closely to Hannibal, completely blind to where he was being led.

The world was a blank canvas covered in snow. A bitter breeze nipped at his skin, bringing him out in dry, red patches mingled with his paleness. Hannibal trenched on kicking snow from his path. They didn’t stop and they didn’t talk until they crossed a broken wall that was once the boundary of the grounds. Beyond it was a small stone bridge with a gently trickling stream flowing off out of site into a wood.

“Here,” Hannibal smiled.

“We’re finally far enough away to talk?”

“Quite, and more than that, we might talk freely.”

“So, tell me all the sneaking around was for. I don’t think Bev would have told us off for this,” Will looked down at the stream. It was barely a metre wide but looked deeper than it seemed. A small waterfall tumbled down into rotted springtime rue.

“All will be clear soon enough.”

“Oh no,” Will looked up. “No more hints and riddles. I’ve done my time playing around in your head and I’ve the scars to prove as much. What are you planning, Hannibal?

The good Doctor chuckled and produced a lock from his pocket. “Just a tradition, nothing sinister.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it. What’s the lock for?”

“Here in Lithuanian it is somewhat of a custom for a couple to place a lock on a bridge and then throw the key into a passing stream. It symbolises the permanence of a bond. No going back.”

“You got me to sneak past Bev, into the freezing cold, so we could figuratively chain ourselves together?”

“In plainer words, yes,” Hannibal took a small key from his side pocket and popped the lock open. “There is a small railing on the left-hand side supporting the stone. It’s an ideal spot.”

Will looked at the sincerity in his Husband’s face and felt his anxiety melt. That soft look was back, tender and open like a fawn bearing its uncovered breast to a hunter. He lifted his hand to stroke at Hannibal’s cold cheek.

“You are a hopeless romantic,” he sighed.

“My love is akin to religion Will; I’m am wholly devout.”

Will leaned in close and gave his Husband a quick kiss. Their lips were freezing and cracked from the cold. Together they clamped the padlock into place and then stood in with their backs to edge of the bridge. Their hands clasped around the key.

“I feel like those tourists in Paris. You know that bridge full of locks?” Will starred out.

“Do you really?” Hannibal looked down at him and he was forced to meet the gaze.

“No, I’m just an anxious mess, trying to fill the silence.”

“You don’t have to fill the silence, Will. Grow as comfortable as you want with it, all else will follow after.”

The words soothed his aching nerves. He was sure about this, about the wedding, about Hannibal. Though each completed ritual was like a staircase leading down into a dark pool; each step he took the water came higher and higher. Each eb forward a knot in the rope.

“Now,” Will heard himself say it and the key was flung backwards into the stream. He didn’t look back.

“Thank you, mielasis,” Hannibal took his hand and kissed it.

“You don’t need to say that. I like doing this stuff. It’s nice to do the things your family would have done,” he leant again his husband’s chest and sighed at the sound of his heart. The cold was still biting his nose, so he pushed his face in further.

“Then you will be pleased to know it’s almost time to burn your wreath.”

“I almost forgot about it,” Will pushed at one of the flowers.

“Let’s return,” Hannibal pulled him back onto their trail to the house. The whole time he felt like he was being led or pushed this way or that. The entire ceremony he was following suit. Not that he hated it; he felt comfortable with Hannibal in charge. He was the more experienced of the two. The more knowledgeable. The only thing Will didn’t understand was the feeling of dread in his stomach. It wasn’t about the marriage. He wanted to be with Hannibal. It wasn’t over Franklyn; the man was barely a threat to his relationship or his life. Yet something laced through the celebration like a narcotic. Euphoric and tense at the same time.

The walk back to the house was unchanged, the only traces of their movements were footprints being slowly covered over by freshly falling snow. Hannibal opened the back door with care. Again, the key clunked in the lock. Again, they waited for a sign of Bev that never came. Will turned to follow from memory his way back up to their room but was stopped by a firm hand on his arm. He couldn’t make out the expression on Hannibal’s face as he was led down a different hallway. Will didn’t recognise the route. They went through what seemed like a maze of rooms; passing through doorways, empty corridors and silent stairwells until eventually coming on another locked door.

Quietly, Hannibal produced a large key from his pocket that Will hadn’t seen before. It looked much older than any of the others. One twist and the door creaked open to reveal a gaping mouth of darkness leading down into the belly of the manor. Hannibal gestured for Will to follow him. The stairs went on for endless seconds, tunneling deeper and deeper. The stairs to Hell, he joked in his own mind. The air was still cold and getting colder the further they went. All noise had stopped. It was altogether narrow but getting narrower – tight and stifling as it wound on into the manor’s ancient guts. There was a sudden smell of damp.

They reached the bottom and all Will could make out was a singular door.

“I have not been entirely truthful with you, mielasis,” Hannibal’s voice was much deeper than before, and the accent somehow stronger. Will’s heart sank to his stomach. “I have one last ritual.”

The door swung open and he was almost blinded by the bright electrical light of a singular bulb in the middle of the room. Beneath it, Franklyn Froideveaux sat tied and bound to a metal chair. 


	11. The man who consumes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This took so long. 
> 
> There will be another chapter... or two. Mainly for the sexy times and the Italy wedding.

Will stepped wordlessly into the room. It was the scene of his darkest dreams; in midnight hours drawn long he knew the undeniable conclusion to all this. Franklyn was yet to wake, and ugly nasal sounds echoed around the stone walls. He was still wearing the same suit from earlier but now it was wrinkled, one outer pocket torn, and the distinct smell of booze wafted in the air.

“Our dear guest was making such a scene in town,” Hannibal’s voice cut through like a knife. “I thought it in his best interest to be returned to us.”

He moved further in to join Will, gliding more than walking, and shutting the door tight behind him. His smirking face was sharp in the bright light of the room. Nothing was hidden anymore. The thin pupil almost cat like, predatory in its glance to his sleeping prey. 

“He’s far from safe,” Will eyed Franklyn again and noticed a thin smear of lipstick on his collar.

“I never said safe,” Hannibal smiled. He was round the other side of their dozing guest; hands quick at work on a countertop just beyond Will’s sight. There was the short rumpling sound of plastic and then the clinking of fine crystal.

“I’ve dreamt of this moment for so long,” Hannibal continued without turning. “I think we both have.”

“But in the taxi, we both agreed…”

“I know, mielasis. We agreed it couldn’t be now, but this plan has been months in the making.”

“And you didn’t tell me because…”

“Because this is your wedding gift,” Hannibal turned to reveal a tender smile playing on his thin lips and in either hand a tall glass of champagne. “I hope you like it.” With a few elegant strides he re-joined Will and placed one of the flutes in his lover’s hands. Here, he was entirely in his element. The deep creases in his face mimicked the dark crevices of the country, sculpted and refined. Each beam of white light was unforgiving as it was revealing. The predatory look in Hannibal’s eyes was yet to subside and in Will’s mind he could see the hunger.

“How?”

“How what?” Hannibal was being blithely mysterious.

“How did you get him here and how, if this were the last night Franklyn Froideveaux were ever to be seen alive, would we get away with it?” Will turned his back to their victim to stare intently into his Husband’s eyes, placing one firm hand on Hannibal’s broad chest. They held each other’s gaze for a few fleeting seconds before the silence was filled.

“As I said, months of planning. You don’t believe our dear friend here simply happened upon the date of our ceremony?” Hannibal gestured to Franklyn’s sleeping form; his neck now uncomfortably bent under the heavy weight of his head. “No, I practically gave him the date.”

“And he didn’t question your motives?” Will raised an eyebrow.

“He couldn’t cast suspicion when there was no one to suspect. I ensured that my last correspondence with Franklyn was a letter referring him to a colleague of mine. As expected, he attempted to call my office shortly after, leaving several voicemails. On detailing this to my colleague I was able to convince them to call him and bring him in on short notice. Of course, I insisted on a face to face briefing beforehand to give them the full notes of his case and to be present for his first session as a… transitory measure.”

“Like the kid who can’t handle change gets to the meet their new teacher before the rest of the class,” Will smirked and brought the champagne to his lips.

“Precisely,” Hannibal nodded. “During the session he was fairly put together but came ever unravelled at the mere mention of your name.”

Even with everything between them, Will could understand the pain Franklyn was in. As empathetic as he was, he felt the sting in his heart, the maddening swell of fury at every touch he was denied. Will did his best to ignore it. Diving into the world of murderer’s had cost him enough of his sanity without getting sucked into every sob story that passed him by.

“Just as the session was ending, I pointed out something in the window and as both were distracted, I lay a new business card in amongst the array at the side. My colleague takes a few public patients… from charities and the like. His side desk is full of services; ranging from retreats to home therapies and counsellors.”

“And you were just adding to those services,” Will took the opportunity to get a real close look at Franklyn. The lipstick on his collar was a noticeable shade of bright pink.

“Of course. A private investigator is a public service of a kind.”

Will stepped back and blinked hard against the bright light of the room.

“A private investigator?”

“Well… a friend posing as an investigator,” Hannibal’s toothy grin was back. “Couldn’t send him to a real one and have some lout poking their noses where they don’t belong.”

“I’ve never known you to trust so easily,” Will circled back round to Franklyn’s neck and pointed one accusing finger at the lipstick. “Care to explain.”

“Gladly, though I encourage you not to touch Mr Froideveaux. I’m afraid he’s soaked in liquor.”

One whiff of the offending body was all that was needed to confirm it true. To say Franklyn stank was putting it politely; he smelt of some unholy concoction of cheap booze, potent perfume and sweat. Will couldn’t decipher whether that last one was just from Franklyn or some unpleasant mix of sources. He tended to think towards the later since over the joyful months they’d known each other he’d gotten used to Franklyn’s odour. It was hard to miss when the stink was stalking him just as much as the man himself was. Franklyn’s sweat was mixed in with musky smelling aftershave and a little salt. This new smell was more fragrant; sweat mixed with sugar, artificial yet tart and laced with the undertones of something industrial – most likely adhesive in nature. 

“You are aware that Franklyn obtained the date of our ceremony – you now also know he did this by hiring what he thought was a private investigator. In reality, he paid a close friend of mine whom he was led to by my own machinations at his last official meeting with me. A few well-timed uses of your name, a well-placed card and he was easily caught. Little did our dear guest know that he was doing just as I wanted him to.”

“This is already turning into a villainous monologue. Spare me the nitty-gritty and get to the death laser, Dr No,” Will rolled his eyes as Hannibal took a casual sip of his drink. They flanked Franklyn on either side, Will still inspecting whilst Hannibal stood watching.

“All in due time, Will. I think you’ll enjoy the web I spun to catch our fly.”

Will peered up through his lashes and held the silence for a few seconds, just to punctuate his disbelief in his partner’s antics.

“In any case, you’ll admire my dedication to the hunt,” Hannibal resumed his quiet scrutiny of Franklyn as he continued. “As my friend was feeding Mr Froideveaux what he wanted to know, she was also setting up a series of chance meetings. Afterall, he is so fond of simply dropping in on others I thought it only appropriate that fate drop in on him.”

“And who was the lucky party?”

“Why none other than a past flame of his own. You see, Mr Froideveaux here is filled with certain neurosis that make him a rather disagreeable man to shake off. That’s why two of his most recent affairs have restraining orders against him.”

“Whoever would have guessed,” Will raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, it gets better,” Hannibal smiled.

“Better than two restraining orders?”

“The mob and a stripper better.”

At that Will stood straight and peered into his husband’s mischievous eyes. It wasn’t often he could say that Hannibal was on the verge of out and out laughter, but whether it was the champagne or the situation, he could tell it was there.

“Go on,” Will brought his hand up in a sweeping gesture.

“Not so long ago, Franklyn had a young lover. Well, he spent time with a stripper. A boyish lad with pretty blue eyes and soft hair…”

“I’m not above killing a stripper,” Will shot back.

“Noted, though un-necessary. I’d simply get you a pole since you already dance,” Hannibal’s predatory gaze and sharp smile fell to Will. “Besides, the boy has a new partner. He’s had a new partner for over two years now, not that Franklyn let that stop him. With free access to his emails my partner was able to find almost monthly love notes even up to only two months ago. He was even sending money.”

“Now it’s getting more pathetic than funny,” Will let his eyes glance over the sleeping figure. Franklyn’s form mimicked the passing of his life; the comically tight shirt held taut to his bulging stomach told as much a story as anything. Everything about him was so desperate to fit in.

“Unfortunately, tragedy and comedy are more closely related in this world than we’d like to imagine. Franklyn’s payments to the boy did not go completely unrewarded. There is adequate night life for the gay community both in and outside our state. In a well-known club, our little lovers were apt to meet. For cash, of course.”

”Getting sadder…”

“Franklyn had his fun, even if his feelings weren’t reciprocated. Besides, it was at one of these clubs that he would meet Lukas Andris, another beautiful young man with striking blue eyes and a lithe figure…”

Will backed away to lean against the furthest wall and crossed his arms. “Is this a hint?” he closed his eyes and let a low hum echo in his throat. He heard rather than saw Hannibal’s moments towards him. He kept his eyes closed obstinately.

“Not at all, mielasis,” a smooth voice fell into the hot cusp of his left ear. The warmth of Hannibal’s face was sending a pink blush spreading across his cheek. “I am a very happily married man.”

“Uh-huh, so continue. There’s another guy…”

“Not just any ‘guy’. Lukas Andris was by all accounts a happy accident. He is a well-known spoilt little brat. The son of a rich Lithuanian bureaucrat and old noble family, like myself. He is also well known for having a boyfriend involved in what we’ll call the ‘Lithuanian Mob’. Lukas was not an initial part of my plan but every so often God smiles on all of us.”

“And how, pre-tell, does a well-known man have a boyfriend in the mob of a famously homophobic part of the world no less?” Will cracked his eyes open just a little to see how close Hannibal truly was. He was stood to his full height, smiling down at Will like a hungry tiger.

“In the same way I have returned to my very backwards roots and have married my male partner. I have money. Money and influence enough to pay people to go away.”

“I always forget about the money. You damn, dirty rich people,” Will sighed.

“Quite. You see here’s where the story takes a rather interesting turn,” Hannibal glanced back over his shoulder at Franklyn and practically sauntered to his side. “Lukas had a small falling out with his partner a few months back and travelled to the US in order to live life a little more freely, or simply to get back at his boyfriend. One such way was to bounce from partner to partner and record the entire thing on social media for his boyfriend in Lithuania to see.”

Will had a sudden flash of inspiration; Franklyn at a gaudy club, some music he didn’t recognise pulsing in the background with the neon lights. Fit, sweaty bodies crammed together on an unforgiving dancefloor. He only got in because he practically paid off a bouncer, maybe threw around a name he didn’t really know. Either way he was inside and lost. Just like in the rest of his life, no one was paying attention to him. Everyone else was younger, fitter, more beautiful. Then he sees him; a lithe lad with piercing eyes stood in a private booth, gated away behind more bouncers like a treasure waiting to be plundered.

“Yes, Lukas is looking for anything to make his boyfriend furious,” Hannibal’s voice floats amongst the pulsing music, mixing with the daydream. “And there in the dark shadows of a crowded club he sees Franklyn. A goofy, entirely American man with all the charm his devout love of cheese would suggest – and he’s perfect. That’s without mentioning how desperate he is. He’s buying this sweet little brat 100-dollar bottles of vodka like it’s impressive, like Lukas isn’t used to 1000-dollar bottles.”

Will can see it all. Franklyn’s nervous little face as this beautiful fae of a boy practically drapes himself all over him. He’s never had someone be so eager to touch him. Never experienced the rush of someone so beautiful giving him so much attention. He’s caught in his old dream; the night brought him a new little protégé to mould – and what a protégé. Lukas is frighteningly good at playing along. Oh, he’s so excited, so impressed when the 100-dollar vodka comes to the table. He grasps at Franklyn’s arm, lays his accent on thick and smiles just like a puppy. He plays the innocent village boy too well for someone so used to being escorted by hardened killers. Franklyn doesn’t notice; this isn’t a bubble he wishes to pop.

“Chiyo told me it was quite a sight,” Hannibal continued. “Franklyn was so enraptured he was hardly drinking a mouthful of what he bought. From what she could make out, it was all sweet talk and nonsense. Franklyn spoke about the arts in Baltimore. Lukas wanted nothing more than to talk of how bored he was and how he needed someone to show him round. Why, it was almost a meeting designed by God.”

It’s Hannibal’s chuckle that brings Will back from his daydream.

“How does that add up, if he was still so obsessed with you?”

“Good question,” Hannibal took another sip from his glass, almost emptying it. “I had hoped this would damper his devotion to me. However, it seemed that even Franklyn was aware of the fleeting loves of young men.”

“Good to know I’m too old for that then,” Will stepped forward and lightly bumped his hip into Hannibal, gently nestling himself into his side and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Not at all. I count myself amongst the vastly lucky that I have managed to secure my own young paramour,” Hannibal smiled warmly at the dig in his side that last word earnt him. 

“I’m a bit older than a ‘lithe young stripper’ or a brat.”

“Yet I’m sure you could fill either part when required,” as he spoke Will’s arms came to rest around his neck, bringing them face to face. Will was pleasantly buzzed, his eyes heavy with sleep and drink. His dopey little smile was lopsided as he continued to gaze lovingly at his husband.

“So, how does a Lithuanian socialite lead him here?” Will gazed back at Franklyn who was still dozing, completely happy to stay in his stupor.

“Well, this I feel is the most ingenious part. As I mentioned, Lukas was a happy accident. At first, I thought he may simply absorb some of Franklyn’s enthusiasm. When he didn’t, I had other ideas. He had multiple lovers during his time in America, but given Franklyn’s obsessive personality and my intervention, I made sure that our friend here was the most re-occurring. Chiyo kept tabs on him when he was drunk, taking his phone and making posts about their relationship on an account Franklyn isn’t even aware he has. This caught the attention of Lukas’ boyfriend in Lithuania.”

“Lukas’ mobster boyfriend.”

“Precisely,” Hannibal said, squeezing Will in closer. “Chiyo was very clever in her use of the account. Photos of Franklyn, love notes for Lukas and even Lukas himself linked to it multiple times. His lover was almost certain to see Franklyn and see him he did. He immediately called Lukas home, sending his own men to retrieve him but of course, not before paying Franklyn a visit.”

Everything Hannibal said was true. Only two weeks before the ceremony Franklyn was visited by three men. It was dark when they turned up – two in the morning creeping up on Franklyn’s tired gaze as he scrolled through texts and photos. He was spoilt for choice. Hannibal was his goal, but Lukas was like his guilty pleasure. A man can only be denied so many times before he sought his fun in all manner of places, and what fun Lukas was. Fun like Franklyn had never known. The fairest thing, all soft glances and beautiful pale skin – he was even shorter than Franklyn, like a little toy boy on his arm. It felt so naughty just to be by him, just to imagine those plump lips… but he didn’t have to imagine.

Decades of lacklustre faded into static when he got his kiss; decidedly less innocent than Lukas’ face would let on. The thrill of the public display left him euphoric, giddy from the fumes of expensive liquor and hot bodies. Scrolling through his phone at night he didn’t hear the car pull up outside. Glaring at the screen with pictures he didn’t remember taking he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. Franklyn didn’t know much of anything until his door was rammed in. Two of the assailants to this day he couldn’t recognise as they slammed into him so quickly, pinning him to a wall. Their third associate he would always remember. 6ft3 with leathery olive skin and a strong square jaw sat on a long neck. His deep-set eyes were grey and hooded with the loose skin of age, one more so than the other. It gave him a constant pensive look as though he were considering everything very slowly.

This man was the one to explain to Franklyn that his ‘relations’ were over. That this was a warning. He was also the one to pull a knife from his back-left pocket and smile absently. There was a fondness in his smile – a humour that told Franklyn this was all a joke to him. Threatening this little American man, with no weapon and no spine to speak of, was comical. That is was. Franklyn snivelled a little and promised never to go near Lukas’ again. Not that he would have the choice with the man being pulled back to Lithuania, but a knife to his belly was good incentive to give his word.

Then the men were gone. There was nothing but a scar across his middle for a souvenir and pieces of a wrecked door. His mother would stop by the next day to scream at the mess then to reprimand him for what he’d gotten himself into. It was his Mother who would call the Police; much to Franklyn’s dismay. Not much could be done. He explained to the officer’s that it was just a misunderstanding. His boyfriend had gotten mixed in with the wrong crowd, but he couldn’t identify anyone. He made sure to repeat ‘boyfriend’ as often as needed, just so it would turn up in the reports.

“So, he gets beaten up by the mob… or a type of organised gang. I’m starting to see motive for a disappearance. You don’t cross those sorts of people and expect to live long but, he was still here, with us,” Will notices the first stirrings of life starting to come back to Franklyn’s face. His eyelashes are fluttering every now and then.

“We weren’t the only ones to be blessed with his presence tonight,” Hannibal put one slender hand inside his jacket pocket and revealed a glossy business card. It was for a bar; Lukas’.

“Now this is getting interesting.”

“There are many twists and turns in this maze, mielasis. As you’ve probably guessed the bar in question is…”

“Lukas Andris’ bar, or the bar his boyfriend runs for him,” Will shot back with his eyes wide.

“Precisely. A favourite haunt of the pair bought early in the spring of 2014 as a sort of ‘anniversary’ present,” it was then that Hannibal noticed Franklyn being to stir. His smirk cocked to one side as he watched the man try to lift his heavy head and fail. He groaned like a dying animal all the while shifting on the chair. “Our friend is waking up.”

“So, you had best finish this story fast.”

“Yes,” Hannibal came back to stand by Will. “Lukas’ is fortunately in the town next door, technically. A good half hour drive but the manor is remote. I directed the driver not by using the name of the bar but by mentioning that Franklyn was a friend with some Lithuanian roots and in need of… company.”

“The man needs help,” Will watched as for the first time that evening Franklyn’s eyes tried to open. One eyelid peeked upwards and then squeezed shut at the bright light.

“None the less, Lukas’ bar is one of the only known establishments for a while known to entertain such things. Roughly half an hour after leaving us he was sat drinking. Drowning his sorrows. Planning for another day,” Hannibal stopped to acknowledge a low groan that echoed around the room. “Completely unknown to him he would run into his little protégé again. He would also run into his furious boyfriend. The last footage of Franklyn Froideveaux police will ever find is of him entering a mob run bar and then drunkenly getting into a fight with the son of a local syndicate.”

“I’m almost speechless.”

“Did I mention that the police were called this evening? Oh yes, Chiyo has supported us today too. As an anonymous tip of an on-going fight. There will be a police witness to the fact that the last time Franklyn was seen alive was in a four on one fight with a gangster before drunkenly wandering off.”

Will held his breathe for a few seconds; it was the perfect set up. There were hundreds of things that could happen to Franklyn whilst he was drunk. Whilst he was at odds with a gangster. Even just on his own wandering a country at night with no grasp of the language. Then like lightening it struck him.

“Beverly isn’t just our witness, she’s our alibi,” his eyes fell to Hannibal who was staring at him with the intensity of a beast, hungry for revelation.

“Yes, she will attest to the fact that we’ve been here all night.”

The plan laid bare was something from a novel; the errant twists and turns, the ceremony, Beverly and finally Lukas. It was a game of cat and mouse. A very foolish game where Franklyn had left the role of predator to Hannibal, something the man was all too familiar with. Will could imagine Hannibal in his feline skin, almost as well as he could imagine his person suit. They shared a similar grace, a similar carnivorous bent. Will knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of Hannibal’s focus in such a game. It could be unpleasant, unsettling. There was always a feeling of being placed on a knife’s edge, balanced precariously and always looking to the outstretched hand that never all the way revealed itself as friend or foe.

Finally, Franklyn’s eyes were open, and they shone with blurry cognition. He took in his surroundings in total silence. It was a long scanning motion that brought him to stop as he laid eyes on the couple before him. There was a flash of confusion then panic as a slow movement of his body told him he was bound to the chair. After that he started writhing to be free. Shrill little sounds were muffled behind his gag.

“Franklyn, so good of you to join us,” Hannibal smiled. That made him stop struggling just for a second. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up,” he continued. “It’s only right that the guest of honour be present for his part.”

Then, Hannibal paced steadily to the table he acquired the champagne from. Most of its content was still blocked from Franklyn’s view but he could hear the rustling of plastic alongside the clattering of metal on hard wood. Will went to join his partner quite eager to see what was in store. On seeing it all laid bare it confirmed his suspicions. Two plastic suits were placed, neatly folded, to the right of the desk. The metal sound was various tools of the trade; surgical scissors, clamps to keep the flesh open, scalpels and the like. A cacophony of Doctor’s delights.

“That looks mean,” Will pointed to one apparatus with a clear sharp edge.

“A trocar, darling. It can help to relieve the body of fluids or gases that get in the way. Mostly used on patients experiencing cases of bloating caused by internal distress.”

“Oh, I think he’s in distress alright,” Will turned back to glance at Franklyn who was eyeing both men with a terrified gaze. “What are we taking from him?”

“I adore how matter-of-fact you’re being. You have no qualms in ripping this man open, even now?” Hannibal held his gaze steady. The two shared a look of questioning; this was the boundary that couldn’t be uncrossed. Once Franklyn was dead, he could not be brought back nor his innards magically uneaten. The seconds slipped past silently as a decision was made.

“I told you what I wanted,” Will whispered it.

“You did but words are one thing, action is another,” Hannibal moved to unfold one of the plastic suits. “I understand if this is too soon or….”

“I don’t appreciate this test.”

Hannibal stopped and let his eyes rest on Will’s irritated face.

“What do you mean?”

“I know your tests by now, Hannibal,” Will turned to face their victim. “You want to know how far I’ll go, how ready I really am. If I sit this one out, you’ll know you don’t have me – all of me. You’ll take it as a sign that I could run at any minute, start feeling guilty, wake up and realise the gravity of what I’ve done. This is less so about just bonding us together as it is tying me to you. If I don’t help but I keep quiet, I’m your captive. If I don’t help but I go running, I’m your prey.”

“What if you do help?” Hannibal’s characteristic indifference was gone. To most, they wouldn’t catch it, but Will could see the rise of his chest and the tenseness in his body. He wanted this.

“This is very self-indulgent of you, especially for something you called my gift,” Will leant back against the table and surveyed Franklyn. He seemed more comical than before, his wide eyes bulging from their sockets.

“It was a gift to me as well. I have sacrificed for you, William. What will you sacrifice for me?” his voice was smooth but laced with expectation.

“You’ve torn apart your person suit. Broken free of it, more so.”

“I have left it in tatters at the altar of your becoming.”

“My becoming, a thing you’ve orchestrated as much as this night, for months on end,” Will tore his gaze from Franklyn to look back at his partner. “In earnest, Hannibal, will there ever be a sacrifice grand enough to sate you? Will there ever really be a time when you won’t hunger for more, even if my bones are bare and there’s nothing left?”

Hannibal stood considering for what felt like the longest stretch of time. His eyes had taken on the dark shading best known to them when he was thinking deeply. All his posture was rigid until one hand came down to rest atop the desk.

“No. My love is my religion, Will. If you are nothing but bone, then I’ll be inclined to break you until I can feast on the marrow of your very core. I want nothing more than to consume you and in turn, be consumed. Whether you are mine by love or force, I cannot separate myself from you. I have finally witnessed another in this world of pigs, and I yearn to be seen. I will be seen,” he came closer to Will, snaking his arm around his waist and bringing his face close enough to feel the skin of their noses touch. “I will hunger for you in the way a starving man hungers; desperately and uncontrolled.”

In a sick way, it made Will smile. He closed the gap between their lips and kissed his carnivorous husband. It stayed tame; close mouthed but slow, both unhappy to part as though parting was so un-natural to their very being. The moment was interrupted by a muffled sound coming from their guest. Franklyn was still bound to the chair, sweat starting to drip from his brow.

“We still haven’t decided what we want from him,” Will sighed.

“Haven’t we?” Hannibal produced what looked like a drill but with a small saw attachment at the end. “A sternum saw. Used for better access to the heart.”

“Do you have a recipe in mind?”

“Shredded heart with pickled blueberries, fennel and wild rice, or perhaps braised with a mushroom duxelle stuffing.”

At the mention of food Franklyn’s panic became more obvious. After a few minutes of listening to the pair talk back and forth he finally had enough information to put two and two together, or to do as much deducing as his inebriated state would allow. They were going to eat him. Dread filled his body, made it feel ten times heavier as he struggled against the restraints. This wasn’t real. None of this was real. His last memory was out in the streets, arguing with a tall Lithuanian man about why he couldn’t just puke anywhere he wanted. This wasn’t real. He was passed out somewhere and this was another nightmare.

“Finally grasping this situation are we, Romeo?” Will came forward to pat Franklyn gently on the cheek. Even when drunk he hated him. So, he leant forward to headbutt his assailant only to miss as Will pulled himself back swiftly. “That wasn’t very nice. You’re the one trying to ruin my wedding day.”

Now, Franklyn was almost sure it was a dream. Bone marrow and braised hearts, he always thought of Will as a type of boogie man. His own personal monster. He’d wake up in his hotel room in the morning, hung over and with a thousand voicemails from Lukas. Then, he’d make his way back up to Lecter Manor where he would make his final efforts at wooing Hannibal. He wouldn’t be scared off by a nightmare.

“Mr Froideveaux is no stranger to rudeness. I have yet to forgive him for sexually harassing me in my office,” Hannibal was putting on the plastic suit. It fit snuggly around his real clothing but covered every inch that was important. “You as well, mielasis.”

“Right, right,” Will returned to his place next to Hannibal and began putting on his own suit. Again, they could hear the panic in Franklyn’s muffled cries as the chair he was on slid back against the concrete floor, making an unearthly screech.

“Now, Franklyn. None of that. It won’t help you in any case,” Hannibal smiled at him, as though this were nothing more than one of his sessions and he was being neurotic.

“That’s such a condescending tone to hear before you die. It’d piss me off if it were the last thing I heard. I’d be thinking of slicing your throat.”

“I doubt Franklyn here wants to slice my throat, or maybe you do?” Hannibal leant in close. “Would you like to slice my throat, Franklyn?”

His only answer was stifled moans behind a now damp gag.

“Too right, Franklyn. You tell him.”

“Oh, what did he say?” Hannibal stood back to his complete height with a smirk playing on his lips.

“He told you to shove it up your arse, you cannibalistic prick,” Will let the vulgarity of it come in full blow paired with his deft Louisiana twang. He was fully aware of the Doctor’s distaste for rudeness but by proxy it was Franklyn’s rudeness and he was the messenger. Mostly, he wanted Hannibal a little riled. A feral animal was much more fun than a tame one.

“I’ve never known Franklyn to be so rude to me,” Hannibal came in close to Will’s side, barely giving him enough room to finish putting on the plastic suit. “Do you think I’ve offended him in some way?”

“I think he’s just upset that you’re going to eat his heart instead of fucking him.”

There the silence fell. Will continued rather nonchalantly, continuing to fiddle with the confines of his new plastic suit. It was rigid from so little use and stuck to his clothes in random places, making the whole thing shift uncomfortably. One arm was momentarily stuck in a twist, taking with it the shirt underneath and making it tight. Hannibal had plenty of practice. If he needed the practice at all. He could imagine the man simply slipping into it like a second skin, naturally at home in its protective barrier.

Whilst lost in his thoughts, a silent hand came to rest at his side and squeezed firmly. Without the plastic and layers of clothing it might have been quite a bruising grip. He felt hot breath at his ear.

“Eating and fucking share a similar palette. Both animalistic pleasures; ones you are familiar with.”

“I would argue that wanting to eat someone and wanting to fuck them are different,” Will held his position, loath to release himself of Hannibal’s touch.

“Are they?” from behind Hannibal pushed his groin forward to meet the plush curve of Will’s ass. “Consumption of flesh has always been a pleasure to me, more so at my dinner table but as of late, also in my bedroom.”

“I think Franklyn was thinking less… abstract when he kissed you,” Will turned to face his partner, breaking the sweet contact from before and looking him dead in the eyes. They were still dark, and the pupils were dilated with something. Lust, hunger, he couldn’t decide. 

“Then I think we know why he was so disappointed. My mind is of a singular thought; consumption as worship,” Hannibal brought his lips to Will’s again, opening slightly to bare teeth against soft flesh. He nipped at the chapped skin and left a thin nick in its plump surface. A trickle of blood slipped down Will’s chin.

“I wouldn’t like to be consumed either.”

“You, mielasis, have no choice.”

A few more moments of silence punctuated with a hard starring. Hannibal’s hand placed a small knife into Will’s; the touch soft and lingering, as though unwilling to be parted. Each touch was like the first. Always so gentle before the ripping and the tearing.

“Now, then,” Hannibal took himself away from Will to face Franklyn. “What of you, Mr Froideveaux?”

Franklyn only stared in reply. In his head he was still swimming at sea, knocked sideways by the drink. The bright light made him want to throw up. This was nothing like the Lecter Manor of his normal dream, that place was all elegant shadow and macabre beauty. Whatever this was had a harsh yellow light buzzing through its sharp edges. There was no decadence, no flamboyance, no beauty to be found in the empty stone walls or the hideous plastic suits. Everything here was a snuff film; coarse and grainy like a bad camera.

“Perhaps this would be more entertaining if you could answer us?” Hannibal bought his hand up and removed the sodden cloth gag at Franklyn’s lips. The first thing he did was cough, spluttering almost immediately into Hannibal’s face. It made Will smile as he looked at the small window of horror that flashed across his partner’s features.

“That’s what you get for letting him talk,” Will huffed.

“WHAT IS ALL THIS!” Franklyn’s panicked cries echoed, sending his shrill voice deep into Will’s sensitive eardrums. It made him wince and the thought of sticking the knife in Franklyn’s throat played in his mind then and there.

“Where…WHERE AM I? I was j-just… outside and then this woman, and then here, and YOOUU,” Franklyn was unable to lift an accusing finger, but it was obvious from his stare who he was focused on.

“What about me?” Will shot in response.

“YOU, it’s always you. What did you slip me?”

“Why is it me that’s slipped you something?”

“Because you’re always sneaking around, playing dumb, like I don’t know your pl…plans,” a small hiccup come burp sounded in the back of Franklyn’s throat. He was visibly still swaying side to side with his head.

“_I’m_ sneaking around? That’s insulting.”

“Come off it! How long were you sniffing around Hannibal, ay?” Franklyn tipped his head back as far as it would go, his eyes glazing over. “Admit it, how did you do it?”

Hannibal stood firm at Franklyn’s side, happy to let whatever conversation followed next take place free of his intervention. It was Will’s turn to be on edge.

“How did I do what?” Will shrugged.

“Get involved with HANNIBAL,” the last word was louder than the rest. “How, how, how, how, how did someone like you… what did you do? Did you follow him… pretend to run into him? I know it wasn’t natural. I’m not stupid.”

Will looked over to the cannibal in question and found him looking rather amused with his lot.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“BULLSHIT!” Franklyn tipped himself forward on the chair. “What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it?”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“Don’t you see, Will?” Hannibal’s voice finally interrupted the chorus of echoes. “I have told you; love is as religion. Devotion a form of madness. Are we not the same way about each other?”

Will considered it, rolling around the thoughts in his head of the things he had done to be here. Before all this, before Hannibal, he would have handed a killer to Jack without hesitation no matter how friendly they were. He probably wouldn’t have married a man or even abandoned the comfort of his home in Wolf Trap. There was a long list of things that would have been denied under the neat little title of ‘Before Hannibal’.

“If I were to turn now, and free Franklyn of his bonds,” Hannibal ran his nimble fingers along the rope in question. “And I was to take him as a lover… what would you do?”

Will felt his heart thump through his chest.

“I’d kill him, and maybe you.”

A gentle, pleased smile stretched over Hannibal’s face as he came to re-join Will and place his hands either side of his hips.

“Maybe?” it was said as a question, but flatly, as though mocking the indecision.

“I’d be angry enough too, to stab you… but I don’t want you dead.”

“How would you do it, mielasis? How would you punish me for straying from your worship?” Hannibal lifted Will’s hand in his own and brought it to his lips. He began kissing each finger in turn, pressing the coarse skin to his own then gently circling the skin of Will’s palm with his fingertips.

“With my hands,” barely a whisper. Will took his free hand and brought it up to Hannibal’s neck. He wrapped it around, securing his grip tightly – enough to be firm but not enough to choke. It made Hannibal’s eyes flicker with delight as he felt it, Will’s thumb stroking his pulse.

“Intimate. How it should be,” Hannibal placed his own hand over the one gripping his throat. “Perhaps you’d like to give me a gift, a prelude to your wrath?”

“You want me to begin consuming…”

“Till you can taste my very marrow.”

Then, Will’s teeth dug into the pliant flesh of Hannibal’s neck. It wasn’t a kiss, simply a bite. He heard the moan it drew from Hannibal, felt it reverberate through his chest as his hands went to work, pulling them closer together and gripping firmly to his partner’s hair. Even through the plastic he could feel Hannibal lean into him, their groins flush in the unforgiving fabric. He then felt the small, undulating thrusts as he bit harder – drawing blood and relishing in the noises that Hannibal only ever made for him. It was cut short.

“Get off him!” Franklyn’s voice was weak. “I knew… I knew you weren’t right. All this, is you!”

The sight of Will; blood stained teeth, cock at full mast from dry humping his husband through their murder suits – he was something to behold. It was having its effect on everyone, but none more than Hannibal. His hand was stroking his lover’s side, gentle and smooth, until it reached the top of the plastic to find the zip. He pulled it down and let his hand fall to the aching bulge that awaited him. Will let out a firm hiss at the contact.

“He’s right, you drive me to despair, William. I have never been so vulgar in my life as when I am with you.”

“Yeah?” Will smirked. “I think you should be vulgar more often. It gets me off.”

He gripped Hannibal’s wrist and ground down into the rough palm he’d been gifted. The nimble fingers cupped him beautifully through the fabric.

“Is vulgarity a type of worship my God demands?” Hannibal leant to whisper it into the shell of Will’s ear.

“Stop waxing lyrical and put that mouth to better use.”

Will’s hands sat a top Hannibal’s shoulders and pushed him, less than gently, into a kneeling position. It was a beauty in and off itself, to see the shrike on his knees. There was a strange thrill in witnessing a predator so nimbly led, like waiting for the tiger in the cage to eat its master. Hannibal kept his predatory smirk. He was hungry; hungry but playful, eager to win their little game. A moment of light headedness threatened to topple Will from his place atop the world, but he steadied himself. Those dark eyes were still fixated on his.

“What are you doing? Stop, STOP!” Franklyn’s pleas were fuel to the fire. What better way to pronounce one’s faith than to a captive audience? Shout it from the rooftops and all that. Hannibal unzipped Will’s trousers slowly, purposefully, to build the anticipation. Will almost suspected him to suddenly stand and relinquish him of all his power, unfurl to his true height as the shrike and shatter the illusion – but he didn’t. His dedication to the game persisted. Two gentle hands released Will’s throbbing member from its confines in fragile lingerie.

“A gift for your devotee?”

“I’m a benevolent God.”

He was already hard underneath all the lace and frill.

“Tell me, Will. Did murder always make you so erect?”

“Did you ever use that pretty mouth for anything useful?”

Hannibal smiled and gave the head of Will’s cock one firm lick. He enjoyed the tease. The two kept their eyes locked as the worship began. Two slow sweeps of tongue either side of his dick and he was breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. It wouldn’t be quick. A hand came to pump his shaft in an even rhyme whilst another used its thumb to massage circles into his upper thigh. A few more tentative licks then Hannibal took the whole of the head into his mouth, slowly letting it roll out over his moist lips.

Seeing Hannibal spit was almost un-Godly but also a strange turn on. It hung from his tongue for just a moment before he used his mouth to spread it generously across the shaft. Will’s hand found its way to his hair. He tugged just enough to see Hannibal wince. It was heavenly, that control. Hannibal Lecter on his knees, a private audience now in the know of how base he could be.

“HANNIBAL!” the disgust in Franklyn’s voice was palpable. It was a visceral reaction that the scene playing out in front of him – whether it was a dream or a nightmare, only it’s graphic nature would haunt him. Not that he would live long enough to be haunted. The sound of his pleas registered to Hannibal only as a form of motivation. His eyes didn’t leave Will’s, but his mouth kept its pace, now taking in more, letting one hand accompany his back and forth rhythm.

Will’s hand gripped his hair, eager to keep the contact but more so to feel the power.

“You like to consume?”

The only answer was those sharp, dark eyes starring him down – daring him, seeing straight into him. This was what they were; a game of two predators, only ever subdued, playful, never tamed.

“Then consume,” Will bucked his hips forward, making Hannibal gag. He laughed, watching as the prideful shrike cast a dangerous glance upwards.

“You look like you’re going to bite me. I thought you were being more figurative,” he kept laughing despite himself. A tight squeeze on his balls cut it short and he took in a long, hissing breath. It made him close his eyes; enclosed in that darkness he could really feel the hot, moist space of Hannibal’s mouth. Every now and then he felt the scraping of teeth – entirely purposeful he was sure.

“STOP, stop! I don’t want to watch any more. This is a nightmare, a nightmare. I’ll wake up. I’m in my room. I’ll wake up,” Franklyn’s nonsense hardly registered.

Hannibal picked up his pace, keeping his eye contact firm. One hand worked the shaft whilst the other gently massaged Will’s balls, stretching them down carefully. It was something he clearly enjoyed as a gentle hum escaped the younger’s lips.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

It was starting to pick up, the pace of the sucking. He was definitely sucking, and it felt like the warmest, tightest hole he’d fucked in his life. That probably wasn’t true but, in that moment, it was all he could recall. Hot, tight holes. Hannibal on his knees, getting spanked, hands around his neck. He grunted; a beautiful image flashed across his mind. On instinct alone, or maybe it was spite, he grabbed Hannibal’s head and pushed himself to the back of his throat. Again, the gagging noise but this time controlled, as though he’d expected it. It made Will hum in weak disappointment.

Though it was cut short by the taut vibration of a moan in Hannibal’s throat. He held Will still, now showing off his new skill. The wideness of his tongue lavishing the underside of Will’s cock with a caress far too tender for the moment.

“Disgusting, disgusting…”

Then the ministrations restarted, quicker than before, sometimes Hannibal would let the whole of his cock go to kiss only at the over sensitive head.

“Tease,” Will hissed. He was lightheaded with the rush, and close – so close. Just a little more. Something a little more. He wanted to fuck, to be fucked, to reciprocate every touch in kind. His head rolled back. Nothing ever felt as right as it did now.

“Stop….stop,” a distant sob.

He’d never been so hard in his life. The thrill of being watched, being seen dominating. Hannibal had given him this. Loved him enough to give him this. The pace quickened, mouth and hand in unison tugging smoothly. So close. Close.

“I HATE YOU!” it rang with a shrill echo. Then, Will came. It shot straight into Hannibal’s mouth, warm and waiting. He took it happily, continuing to suck for a few moments more – milking Will for everything he had to give. The last of the sweet contact was a soft kiss placed on the very tip before lifting the delicate lingerie and securing Will’s cock back inside its constraints. All done so gently, as though placing a treasure.

“Do declarations of hatred excite you so, mielasis?” Hannibal kissed Will, letting him taste himself on his lips.

“Next time, I’m cumming on your face.”

“Would it give you a thrill to embarrass me in such a way?”

“It thrills me to see you all dirtied up,” Will sighed and leant back against the desk, grasping at the edges for support.

“Such a vindictive creature,” Hannibal’s hands were back at Will’s waist. His voice was still smooth as ever, melodic in the air and more beautiful than ever with the hints of his accent thickened by design.

“I didn’t force you to the ground. You went freely.”

“I enjoy and revel in the creation of another,” Hannibal then turned back to their guest. “Your power, or illusion, makes you more enjoyable.”

Franklyn was sunk back in his chair, eyes starring blankly out into the hollowness of the room. He both saw everything and nothing all at once. Somewhere in the trauma he receded to a different place – to the bedroom that he shared only in his sweetest of nights. The room that lay so tentatively out of his reach, and there the forbidden fruits of a love he had yet to experience. Though, now he had experienced, seen enough of that love to serve him a lifetime of nightmares. Hannibal placated and willing beneath another.

“What art can be made of you?”

“Cupid, struck through with his own arrow.”

“A little on the nose,” Hannibal turned back.

“He’s chubby, like a cherub,” Will shrugged in reply.

“And, what else do you see?” Hannibal’s tall frame engulfed Franklyn’s, crowding him from behind and presenting him as a canvas for Will’s imaginings. A few silent moments passed.

“Hands bound in prayer, worshipping his love. Struck by his own arrow like a fool. Sweet nothings on his tongue, genitals missing – castrated. Always the devout, never the worshipped. Eyes skyward, to look up at his love,” the description is all too clear. It is Will’s design and Hannibal’s breath hitches at the very idea of it. His pupils are blown wide ad he sees the blood trickling from imitation wings and wet, eager lips.

“Beautiful,” Hannibal breathes it more than says it as his arm outstretches to pull Will into a firm embrace. Now, they are truly consuming together.

“I want this nightmare to end…” Franklyn’s voice is weaker than before, broken by his ordeal. It’s lost all his earlier fight, all his outrage.

“Let me ease your pain,” and Will zipped his plastic suit as high as it would go. Before words could be spoken, he took the knife in his hand and slit Franklyn’s throat from ear to ear. A fresh splattering of blood coated his face. He watched as the pig before him struggled for breath, grasping, drowning. Franklyn’s eyes became distant – more panicked than Will had imagined, more so than any recreation his mind made, but this wasn’t a recreation. This was his. This belonged to him. It was his design.

Bleeding from the neck is a strange death; it simultaneously takes no time at all and weighs on forever. He couldn’t tell how long it took Franklyn to stop moving, to slump down with eyes wide open. Maybe a minute, maybe five. That time faded as he watched his victim fade with it. A tight squeeze brought him back from the darkness in his vision. Hannibal, watching him intently, scrutinizing his every move.

“Don’t analyse me right now,” Will scoffed.

“Not analysing, admiring.”

“Those are one in the same from you. Your admiration comes with your poking, your probing.”

“As I consume so shall I be consumed in return,” then Hannibal took the knife and placed it neatly onto the desk. It was now a relic. An ode to the metamorphosis of lovers and it deserved to be treated as such. There it would remain as they lay Franklyn’s heavy corpse down on a tarp, as they cracked his sternum with a surgeon’s precision, as they took the heart of the man that had interfered with them. Hannibal’s preparations preceded him; a cooler for organs, a dark room for storage and a small window of opportunity to rid themselves of the body the next day.

They would be unable to display him; he was, after all, to be a victim of the mob and not the shrike. Tomorrow as they distracted Beverly, their friend would pay a visit to finish the work. He would be spread far and wide. Some pieces in the garbage, some pieces in the woods, one wrapped and hidden deep in the bins of a certain mob member. For security. The rest of that night passed in relative ease. The body was ripped of what they wanted, which was very little all considering. Then it was hidden away for the next days trials.

They took off their plastic suits and left them with the body. Retreating upstairs they needed to be as silent as when they descended. The sky was still dark. Everything was quiet, as though what happened below was all fantasy and shade. They had ascended to the real world and it awaited them with unearthly stillness. Hannibal led him back up to Beverly’s door. Again, they performed their careful dance past her sleeping head, stopping only once to check on her. A gentle snoring swept through the chamber. She was none the wiser to the night’s folly.

Ascending the stairs for the first time was surreal in the darkness. The steps went on into infinity, climbing higher and higher until Will thought he could see the pitch blackness lined with the twinkling of stars. His hand gripped tightly to Hannibal’s as he was led on. Careful to make no noise they went on to find a large wooden door. It was carved with patterns he traced with one gentle fingertip. The clunk of a heavy key made him hold his breath and look down into the darkness. A few moments but nothing stirred. No Beverly.

The door creaked open and he was presented with the final doorway. The very last threshold. It was an open mouth waiting for its newest supplicant. Hannibal stood just before the opening and dipped his head, motioning for Will to enter first. His smile was cat-like. As always, he was a tease. Will thought of those lips stretched around the head of his cock. Then he thought of his promise to finish on Hannibal’s face. He was hard thinking of it.

Determinedly, he faced the darkness and entered.


End file.
